


The Bowman and the Beast

by sailingonstardust



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Bard is Belle, Barduil - Freeform, Beauty and the Beast AU, M/M, Mentions of Bagginshield, Mentions of Kiliel, Slow Burn, Tauriel Legolas and Thorin's Company are all enchanted objects, Thrandy is the beast, but there will be plot twists, follows the Disney movie version pretty closely
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-03-20 19:57:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3663003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailingonstardust/pseuds/sailingonstardust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sigrid is sent into Mirkwood by her Mistress to find a rare herb, but she is ignorant of the dangers that lurk within the dark foliage. When she stumbles upon an ominous castle and is taken prisoner, Bard has no choice but to go and find her. He of course offers himself up in her place. Now he must learn to accept his fate, and his children must learn to survive on their own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beast Within

  **[Playlist for this fic](http://8tracks.com/crazycatgirll/the-bowman-and-the-beast)**

The ground crunched beneath Sigrid’s feet, the grass hard and dry with winter approaching. She was nearly upon the edge of Mirkwood and the dark forest twisted up and up in front of her. The foliage was dense and shadowed, and she thought that she could hear ominous screeches coming from inside. All of the Laketown children had heard the stories; tales of people going in and never coming out, those of hideous beasts that could eat grown men in one bite. Perhaps the most famous, yet most unbelievable, were the stories of the beast that lived in a castle deep in the forest.

He was no mere animal, so the stories said; rather he had once been a man. He was at one time the most handsome man in all the land, but he had an ugly heart. He was cursed with hideousness to match the darkness of his heart, and he had become so deformed that people screamed and called him a monster. The stories said that he locked himself away in his castle to writhe in his grotesqueness; his only companions those of his son and men he had kept prisoner in his dungeons.

Sigrid was not sure which stories she believed, if any of them. They all seemed like tales created to keep small children from wandering away as far as she could tell. She was certainly no longer a child; in fact she was to become a woman in only six months. Many of her friends had already celebrated their coming of age with lavish parties that she could only dream of having – not that she would dare complain. Her da worked very hard; they all did. Still, even with all of their labor they hardly made enough to live off of. The master of Laketown was not fond of them. She knew it had something to do with her da and the way he could never seem to keep his thoughts to himself, but to be perfectly honest that was always a quality she had admired in him. Too often she felt that she kept too quiet when she should have stood up for herself, much like she hadn’t done this morning when her mistress had requested that she go into Mirkwood to get an herb that only grew there. Now she stood at the very edge of the tree line, the darkness seeming to stretch out like tendrils beckoning her forward. She swallowed, took a deep breath, and braved the first step into the woods.

As she walked, Sigrid made sure to stay on the overgrown path. It was difficult to see it at times, what with the dimness and the lack of traffic on the pathway, but with a bit of concentration she knew she could manage. She kept her eyes peeled for the serrated leaves of the herb she was searching for, squinting her eyes in the gloom. She hadn’t thought to bring a source of light, but now she was wishing she had. The forest smelled of decay and mustiness, reminding her of things long dead. The air was cold, but still; an odd combination that sent chills down her spine. Everything about the place felt _wrong_ , and Sigrid wanted nothing more than to get out of there as soon as possible.

Slowly her eyes began to adjust, and she almost wished that they hadn’t. Many of the trees were bare of their leaves for the winter, making them look like bony fingers stretching hauntingly to the unseen sky. Thorns scratched her ankles and pulled at her skirt, and she wished she had borrowed a pair of Bain’s pants for the journey. 

The girl trudged on for a ways, not spotting anything even remotely like the herb her mistress had shown her, when she heard an ominous hissing. She stopped in her tracks and looked frantically around, her hand reaching for the knife she had concealed under her skirt. Her da had told her to always keep it with her and had taught her to properly use it. He had said that one never knew when they may need a knife, especially young women. Sigrid had taken it gladly and never left home without it, which she was particularly grateful for now.

The young woman’s heart pounded roughly against her ribcage as she debated whether she should stay where she was or turn back around. Before she could make a decision she saw what appeared to be hundreds of beady eyes poke suddenly out of the gloom and she gasped, pulling her knife from her side. It was warm against her skin and she nearly dropped it in her fear, for her hands were shaking so badly.

A mass of giant, hairy spiders nearly the size of her crawled out of the shadows, their hundreds of yellow eyes glowing in the gloom. They hissed and spat as they inched closer and closer, and Sigrid knew that her knife would not protect her for long against them. She saw off to her right a narrow path that veered into the trees, and she took it without a second thought. The moment she bolted, the spiders lunged towards her. She felt one hairy leg on her ankle and let out a shriek of terror. She did not turn around as she ran, simply watched the path ahead of her and made sure not to trip. That would surely lead to her demise.

The girl only ran for a few minutes, but to her it felt like an eternity. Branches snuck out and stung her face and arms, and ripped her scarf from her neck. Finally the path ended and she was left facing a towering wrought iron gate. Beyond it she could see an enormous structure that looked remarkably like a castle. Sigrid’s mind immediately went to the stories she had heard of the beast, and she hesitated for only a moment before pulling open the gate, which was thankfully unlocked. It screeched as it opened and she slipped inside, slamming it shut. She raced up to the door of the castle just as the spiders came upon the structure.

She watched from a safe distance as they stopped and cowered. The biggest let out an especially loud hiss and they all turned away, slinking back into the shadows. Had she not been so relieved this would have alarmed her; it wouldn’t have been difficult for the spiders to crawl up and over the gate. This thought did not cross her mind, however, and she cautiously made her way up to the heavy stone doors at the entrance of the structure. Gradually her breathing became less like gasping, yet she still breathed heavily. She chalked this up to the anxiety she felt. Already one of the stories had come true with the encounter with the spiders, and she wondered whether this would prove yet another tale to be factual. 

Upon arriving at the top of the many steps that lead up to the entrance, she took a deep breath to calm her racing heart and knocked on one of the doors. She waited a moment, then deciding that no one was going to answer, she pulled it open. It took all of her strength to wrench it from its closed position. It squeaked on its hinges as it opened, and she slipped inside after only opening it a crack. She pushed it shut before turning around to survey her surroundings, the grandeur of it all surprising her. Sigrid didn’t think she had ever been in a place so nice in all her life, despite its dusty darkness. 

Candles hung from the walls, illuminating the space and casting eerie shadows over everything. Ominous sculptures of various animals decorated the space haphazardly, looking as if they could come to life and chase her just as the spiders did.

“Hello?” The girl called out hesitantly, almost hoping that no one would answer. Harsh whispers cut through the still air, and Sigrid turned her head to her left, towards the sound. “Who’s there?” She questioned, her voice sounding fearful even to her own ears. The whispering ceased instantly, only to start again a moment later. “I was chased by some spiders,” she explained warily, “and I came upon this place. I just need someplace to stay until the morning so I can maybe have a better chance at getting home…”

The girl made her way over to a table to her left where a clock sat next to a candelabrum. She grabbed the candelabrum in an attempt to locate the source of the whispers. Suddenly she felt it move in her grasp.

“You will put me down, now!” She heard a male voice exclaim, and if she didn’t know better she would swear it came from – “Yes, you. Put. Me. Down.” Sigrid gasped and all but threw the fixture back onto the table, and it landed with a grunt. She heard giggles come from the clock and turned to look at it, thinking that she must be going mad.

“Oh, lighten up.” The clock laughed, its voice sounding more feminine than the candelabrum’s. “I imagine you scared her.” The candle _hmphed_ and stood back up, brushing itself off with its ‘arms’.

“Who… who are you?” Sigrid stuttered, and the two objects turned to look at her.

“Right, sorry.” The clock started. “I’m Tauriel, and this is Legolas, but he likes it when people call him Leggles.”

“I do not.” He interrupted and Tauriel broke out into a grin. Despite herself Sigrid shivered, the cold from outside seeping through the castle walls and into her bones. _Was this part of the tale of the beast?_ She couldn’t remember. It had been so long since anyone told her a story…

“You must be freezing!” Tauriel exclaimed. “You said you were chased by spiders?” Sigrid nodded. “That’s horrible! Nasty things… I hope they all fall into a pit and rot. But come; you can warm yourself by the fire!” Tauriel jumped onto a chair and then onto the floor and gestured for Sigrid to follow.

“I really don’t think this is a good idea…” She heard Legolas trail, but Tauriel didn’t stop, so she didn’t either. Eventually Legolas caught up to them and the three made their way to a large room with a roaring fireplace and a grand chair in front of it. She heard more voices in here, and wondered if they too would be objects. 

Tauriel led the girl to the chair and instructed her to sit in it. Sigrid was too tired to protest; now that the adrenaline had worn off she was fatigued from her run. She sat down unceremoniously and Tauriel pulled a blanket from a basket and passed it up to her.

“Kí! Fí!” She called out. “There’s someone I want you to meet!” From around a corner came a teapot and a teacup, both with curious expressions on their faces. When they saw Sigrid they stopped in their tracks, staring up at her with amazed expressions.

“Hello.” She waved nervously.

“Uhh… hi.” The teapot replied. Finally Tauriel spoke.

“This is… What’s your name?” Tauriel asked, turning to Sigrid. The girl realized that she hadn’t given it and she felt quite rude.

“Sigrid.” She smiled timidly, feeling warm in the blanket with it wrapped up to her neck.

“This is Sigrid.” Tauriel introduced, addressing the china. “She was chased by a bunch of spiders and wound up here.” The teapot and teacup’s eyes widened even more at that, and they turned to her again.

“You’re a brave one, then. I certainly wouldn’t want to come across some.” The teacup admired. “I’m Kíli, and this is my brother, Fíli.”

“Can we get you some tea?” The teapot – Fíli added with a grin, and Sigrid nodded. She looked on in amusement as Fíli tipped himself ever so slightly so that tea poured into Kíli. The latter then hopped carefully across the room so as not to spill his contents and Sigrid scooped him up gratefully.

As she drank, Tauriel made small talk; asking why she was in the woods and whether or not she had a family. The girl felt very content sitting in the enormous chair by the roaring fire, sipping a cup of tea. She enjoyed listening to the playful banter of Fíli and Kíli when suddenly they quieted. 

“Father – “ Sigrid heard Legolas stutter, and she turned around in her seat expecting to see another object. What she beheld, however, was a hideously marred silhouette staring down at her with contempt. He had one cloudy, unseeing eye, and his entire face was scarred and discolored. Sigrid knew that this must be the beast that all of the stories talked about, and she found herself utterly terrified.

“My lord, I can explain…” Tauriel started, but the man held up his hand to silence her.

He lowered his head so he was looking Sigrid in the eyes and growled a low “Who are you, and what are you doing here?”

The girl shrank away from his malevolent glare and whimpered a small “I’m… I’m Sigrid.” She tried to say more, but her throat felt closed shut.

“Sigrid.” The maimed face before her snarled. “And what, girl, might you be doing in my castle?” 

She bit her lip to keep from trembling and tried to force herself to speak, but no words would come.

“My lord, she has come here by accident.” Tauriel spoke again and the man tilted his head ever so slightly to the left. 

“Is that so?” He challenged, and Sigrid nodded her head nervously. The man narrowed his eyes and sneered “Do you take me for a fool? You think I would believe such an impertinent lie?” 

He towered above her now and as she shrunk back into the chair she felt warm metal against her skin. _Her knife!_ She reached swiftly under the blanket and sheathed the weapon, not wasting a second more before jabbing it towards the monstrous form in front of her. She only managed to make barely a cut on his forearm, but it still took him off guard. The girl made to run away but a hand seized her wrist with a vicelike grip and wrenched the knife from her fingers. She let out a cry of frustration, adrenaline coursing through her once again. Her leg kicked out but the man was too fast. He ducked easily out of the way and twisted Sigrid so that she was in a tight hold. No matter how she struggled she could not move. Hot breath puffed on her neck, and the man did not speak as he began to walk her swiftly out of the room through cold stone corridors.

“Where are you taking her?” Sigrid heard Legolas’ voice question in a frustrated tone.

“Where all trespassers go.” was all her captor said.

They descended down a long flight of stairs, the going difficult with her back pressed up against the scarred man’s abdomen. The further down they went, the mustier and damper the air became. The smell became horrendous as they continued down, down, down, when finally they reached a long level.

Lit torches lined the walls, casting creepy shadows around the space. The man finally released her and she stumbled away from him, a furious glare on her face. All she could think was _When da finds out about this…_ But then she wondered, _Will da ever find out about this?_ Tilda had known where Sigrid was going, but even if he went out searching would he be able to find the path she had taken? What if he got attacked by something even worse than she did? As these worrisome thoughts tore through her mind, Sigrid fell into sinking despair. She was to be stuck here for who knows how long with little hope of rescue.

“Get in.” The scarred man growled as he prodded her towards a small room off of the larger one. It was only once she was inside and the door was slammed shut with an earsplitting clang that she realized it was a jail cell.

“Please, no!” She pleaded, desperation clawing at her throat like an animal. “I’ll leave right now, I promise! I’ll never come back, just please let me go!”

“And let you tell all of your pathetic townspeople about the hideous beast in the middle of the forest?” He jeered. “I don’t think so.”

With that he turned around and ascended the stairs, leaving Sigrid to the dark, dirty confines of her new residence. It took her a moment to register the tears streaming down her face. She let herself sob until her throat felt like it had been scratched raw and it hurt to even swallow. With one last, pitiful scream of frustration, she curled up on the filthy floor of her cell and fell into a fitful sleep.

****

Bard ran frantically through Mirkwood, bow in hand and branches and thorns clawing at his clothes. “Sigrid?” He called out for perhaps the hundredth time, yet still there was no answer. 

He feared the worst; he knew of the dangers in the forest. Bard could hardly believe the ignorance, the induration, of his daughter’s mistress. If they both got out of this alive, Sigrid would never be going back to work for that imprudent woman, money be damned. No sum was worth losing his daughter to this dismal forest.

The father hurried along the overgrown path, his eyes searching desperately for any sign of his oldest child. After what felt like a fruitless eternity of searching, he came across a path that veered from the one he was on. Stooping low to look for any sign of tracks, he noticed the footprints of a human, as well as other marks that confused him. He didn’t pay them much mind, however, his only thoughts those of his daughter and the fact that he was now on the right trail. He only hoped he would find her alive and well.

Bard trudged on down this trail, the going even more difficult than it had been on the first route. His bow kept getting tangled in the overgrowth and he let out a frustrated growl. Suddenly a patch of bright blue cloth caught his eye and the man bent to pick it up, his heart racing. There was no doubt about it; this was Sigrid’s scarf. He had watched her knit it on the floor of their tiny living room with fierce concentration just a few months ago.

Now absolutely positive that he was on the right track, Bard moved as quickly as he could, calling his daughter’s name frenziedly. Before he knew it the path had ended and he was let out in front of a huge wrought iron gate. It was rusty and clearly very old, and he approached it cautiously. Very clear footprints could be seen that he did not doubt were Sigrid’s, as well as more of the strange tracks he could not piece together for the life of him. Without further hesitation he pushed open the gate, its hinges screeching loudly as it swung. He did not bother to shut it again; he simply marched up to the entrance of the looming structure before him. It looked strangely like a castle from the stories he used to tell his children at night, though what business someone had building a castle in the middle of this dingy forest, he did not know.

Bard knocked loudly on the door. When no one answered after a minute, he pushed it open and the stone door ground against the flagstone, generating a painful screeching noise. He stepped into the dim of the castle and did not stop to admire the grandeur of it all.

“Hello?” He called out, hoping beyond hope that his daughter would answer. “Sigrid?” He heard footsteps from around a corner and craned his head to look. What the bowman saw coming towards him was not what he had been expecting.

What appeared to be a clock, a candelabrum, a teapot, and a teacup were making their way towards him. He stopped in his tracks and watched in disbelief as the objects stopped in front of him. “Who are you?” A voice came from below him and Bard thought that he must be going mad. He absentmindedly rubbed his eyes with his palms, but when he looked again the objects were still staring at him. “Do you know Sigrid?” The voice asked again, and Bard could tell that it came from the clock. 

“She’s my daughter…” he replied, thinking that if he was going mad he ought to at least follow his subconscious mind. It wasn’t as if he had many other options.

The objects stirred beneath him and the candelabrum glared at the clock, saying “We can’t take him down there, what will father do?” 

“I don’t know,” the clock snapped, “but we have to take him to her. Do you suggest he keep her locked up down there forever?”

“Ahem.” Bard cleared his throat and the talking objects turned to him once again. _What did they mean by ‘locked up’?_  

“Follow us.” The clock announced and turned to walk down a corridor to their left. The objects led him through hallway after hallway, and Bard knew that he would have no hope of finding his way out on his own. Finally they descended down a long flight of stairs which let out in a filthy, dimly lit room with torches lining the walls. All along the walls were little rooms, which confused Bard until he realized…

“Da?” He heard the voice of his daughter and ran towards her, his arm barely fitting through the bars between them.

“My darling, what have they done to you? What is this place?” 

“I don’t know.” Sigrid choked out, tears streaming down her face. Bard’s heart broke to see her so distraught and he felt helpless not being able to hold her in his arms and comfort her. “I was chased by spiders and I came here and they were so nice to me” she gestured to the objects who were standing silently behind the pair “but then this monster came and locked me up in here.” Bard could hardly understand the girl through her sobs, but upon hearing the word ‘monster’ he became very confused. 

“What monster?” He asked, but suddenly Sigrid gasped and cowered, disappearing into the shadow of the cell. Bard heard a throaty growl behind him and froze.

“Who are you?” The voice bellowed, and Bard twisted around from his spot where he kneeled on the floor to see a hideously marred face glaring down at him menacingly. _Oh,_ that _monster._

“I’m her father,” Bard retorted, his voice sounding much steadier than he felt, “and you will release her this moment. She did nothing wrong.” The bowman was now standing and he could see that the man before him was a full head taller than he was.

The scarred man growled and said “She trespassed here. If I let her go, who’s to say that she will not tell everyone in your pathetic town about the monster who lives in Mirkwood? I would be incapable of defending myself if a hoard of you ignorant peasants were to attack.”

Bard glared up at him, hardly believing what he was hearing. “And who’s to say that she _would_ tell people about you? You know nothing of her or what she would do. If you had taken the time to ask you would learn that the master of Laketown hates our family, and that if any one of us were to tell anyone about you they would laugh in our faces and call us crazy.”

“It is not worth the risk.” The man scoffed, and Bard felt anger bubbling up inside of him like a poisoned spring.

“Take me instead. I promise she will tell no one about you.” Bard pleaded, fighting to keep his gaze measured.

“No, da!” Sigrid screamed and he heard her bang against the bars of the cell. He did not turn around, simply held the scarred man’s gaze.

He seemed to consider Bard’s offer for a moment and finally turned to Sigrid, saying “You will tell no one about what has happened here. If you do, your father will not live to see another day. Do you understand?”

“Da, no!” Sigrid still shouted, her voice sounding raw. “Please, no!”

“Sigrid!” Bard ordered sternly, the tone of his voice quieting his daughter and making his heart hurt. “Go. Do not tell anyone, they won’t listen to you anyway. Take care of Bain and Tilda.” Sigrid hung her head and nodded, sobs wracking her petite frame.

The scarred man yanked open the cell door and grabbed Sigrid by the forearm, pulling her out.

“Let go of her!” Bard shouted, fury written all over his face. The man obeyed and Sigrid stumbled forward into Bard’s arms. “I love you, darling. I love you all so much.” 

“I… love you too… da…” The girl choked out between sobs.

“Bofur.” He heard the man call out and a hat stand came forward. “Escort this girl to the carriage. Be sure that she makes it to Laketown safely.” The hat rack, Bofur, nodded, and the scarred man pulled Bard away from his daughter. 

“Da!” Sigrid cried out as Bofur turned her away to ascend the stairs. 

“I love you!” Bard called out once more, only then realizing that his own vision was blurred with tears that threated to fall. He blinked them away as the man pushed him into the cell where his daughter had sat moments before, shutting and locking the barred door between them. Vaguely he registered various objects scattered about the room, each with a face and some with arms and legs.

The scarred man snarled and turned to ascend the stairs without another word, which Bard was grateful for. He had no energy left to even stand, let alone argue with his captor. Slowly the objects filed out, leaving Bard alone to his thoughts. He lay down on the floor of his cell, the stone ground cold beneath him. Despite the uncomfortable arrangement he felt sleep beckoning to him, and he answered the call gladly.

****

Thranduil’s mind was a swirling vortex of thoughts and emotions, many of which he had no idea what they were. He had felt guilty for locking up the girl, but he simply could not allow himself, his son, and his servants (most of which were once his prisoners) to be found out. No doubt the girl would have returned to Laketown and spread word of a monster in the forest and people would have come running, ready to kill every last living soul in the castle.

No, that would not have ended well. It was lucky for him, then, that the girl’s father had shown up so ready to take her place. Thranduil hadn’t been able to fully appreciate the man’s beauty what with all of the drama, but it was obvious that he was quite pleasant to look upon. Himself, however… He was less than desirable, outside and in. He had proven that with his little display of power in the dungeons.

 _What was I thinking?_ He berated himself silently, pacing back and forth in his bed chambers as he wrapped a cloth around the cut wound the girl had inflicted. Once again, he had let his fear and pride win, and it may have cost them all their ticket back to normalcy.

He heard light footsteps stop in front of his closed door and a knock sounded. “Come in.” He grumbled, turning so his back was to the door. 

The door creaked open and Thranduil heard the voice of his son. “This is an interesting development...” was all he said, and the man turned to face Legolas.

“Aye.”

“You do realize he could be the one to break the spell.” Legolas continued, his voice a bit cautious, as if waiting for his father to blow up once again. 

“Do you take me for a fool?” Thranduil quipped, glaring at the floor. “Of course I realize that.” 

“Well,” his son prodded, “what are you going to do about it?” 

Thranduil blinked at him, the thought having not crossed his mind. “I… don’t know.” He confessed, and he heard Legolas sigh. 

“You can start by letting him out of the dungeons.” He suggested exasperatedly. “Apologize for your rough behavior, introduce yourself properly, and give him a room. Treat him like a guest, since I see he’ll be staying here a while.”

In his heart, Thranduil knew his son was right. He also knew, however, that it wasn’t quite that simple. Even if he did all of those things with utmost sincerity, he doubted the man would forgive him after his treatment of his daughter, and after separating the two.

“No one could ever love me.” was what Thranduil replied with. “I don’t even love myself.” 

“At least try, ada.” Legolas insisted. “What do you have to lose?” Thranduil nodded resignedly and followed his son out of his chambers, making his way down to the dungeons alone.

****

He awoke to the sound of footsteps on the staircase. The bowman opened his eyes and sat up, his entire right side numb from lying on the hard floor. He watched disinterestedly as the scarred man holding him captive opened up the cell door, the hinges creaking.

In the hysteria happening during the first time he had seen the man, Bard hadn’t gotten a good look at him other than noticing his scars. He was now able to see that he had luxurious blond hair that cascaded down his back. Some of it hung in front of his face, presumably to try to hide the scars. He had a strikingly blue eye and the other was cloudy and unseeing. High cheekbones framed his face, and Bard thought that without the scars he would probably be very beautiful. 

“Come with me.” The man ordered, standing in the doorway. Bard hesitated, wondering what the man could want with him.

Finally the blond quipped “Do you like it in here?”

“No.” Bard spat.

“Then follow me,” he repeated, “before I change my mind.” With that he turned away to climb the stairs. Bard stood and the joints in his knees popped. He felt the discomfort of blood rushing back into his right side and redid his low ponytail as he walked. 

His calloused hand trailed the wall as Bard followed his captor up the winding staircase. When they emerged into a long carpeted hallway the marred man turned to look at him, his long hair covering the worst of the scarring. 

“What is your name?” The man asked, and Bard blinked at him. Only now did he register a cloth wrapped around his muscled forearm with blood seeping through it. The father couldn’t know for sure, but a surge of pride rushed through him as he wondered if Sigrid was the cause of the wound.

“Bard,” he replied finally, “though many call me bowman.”

“You are skilled with a bow?” The blond asked, and Bard found himself nodding. It was then that he realized he had not seen his weapon since he had arrived.

“Where is my bow?” He questioned sharply.

“It has been sent with your daughter.” The man replied. “You will have no use for it here.”

 _I will when I find a way out._ Bard thought to himself, wishing that he had kept a better grip on his weapon. It would be no use to his children; neither of the girls had any idea how to use it, and Bain was a terrible shot as he had only just begun to learn. Still, there was no use dwelling on it now. For the moment, he wondered where his captor was taking him. 

“Might I ask where you’re taking me?” Bard questioned, and the man continued walking.

“You will be here for a while, so you will be treated as a guest, not a prisoner. Though of course I cannot let you leave.” 

“ _Of course.”_ Bard scoffed sarcastically, and he watched as the man’s shoulders tensed up further beneath his shirt.

“You will have your own room and you may go anywhere in the castle you wish, except for the west wing.” The man continued, Bard’s curiosity peaking at the last statement.

“What’s in the west wing?” He prodded, and the scarred man stopped in his tracks and turned around so that he was peering down at Bard with a formidable expression. 

“It is forbidden.” He said menacingly, his voice echoing off of the empty castle walls. Bard held his ground, refusing to be intimidated by this maimed man. Finally the blond turned away, continuing down the hallway they had been traipsing through. They walked on the rest of the way in tense silence. Bard was wary of every object they passed, wondering if it would start talking to him, or if he would see a pair of eyes following them as they walked.

Bard thought that it must have been night for the darkness outside to be so absolute. Even in the darkness of the forest there was _some_ light, what with the little bit of sunlight that came through the canopy of gnarled trees. But as they passed towering windows Bard could hardly see anything outside, making him wonder whether his children were all safe at home. 

Eventually they arrived at a door much like all of the others they had passed; wooden and ornately carved. The man turned the doorknob and it opened with a creak. “You will stay here.” The blond stated, moving out of the doorway to allow Bard to enter the room. “I hope it will be comfortable for you.”

Bard was in awe of everything about the room. It was the size of his entire house in Laketown, and much finer. An enormous canopy bed rested against the wall adjacent to the one he was standing against, and a decorative wardrobe resided next to it. Off to his left he could see a doorway, which he guessed led to a washroom that was probably worth more than his own home.

“Why?” He found himself asking, and his captor seemed a bit perplexed by the question. 

“Do you not like it?” He asked confusedly.

“No, I do. I just… Why take me prisoner only to put me in such a grand bed chamber and give me free run of the place?” It simply didn’t make any sense. 

The man sighed and replied “I do not wish for you to see me as your captor. I hope that in time you could come to enjoy your time here.” Bard felt residual anger well up inside him and he barked out an incredulous laugh.

“Well then, perhaps you should have thought of that before you took my daughter prisoner and sent her off by manhandling her, then taking me in her place!” As he spoke his voice rose, and soon the man was glaring back at him. 

“Sir…” Bard heard a female voice from behind the man and peered around him to see the clock from earlier.

“What, Tauriel?” He growled, but the clock did not flinch.

“Would you like for me to help our guest prepare for bed?”

The man nodded and turned sharply on his heel, striding out of the room without so much as a goodnight, not that Bard had expected one. The bowman then turned to face the clock, who he now knew was called Tauriel. His mind reeled with questions, and he wondered if he could trust her enough to answer them.

“I’m sorry for his boorishness.” The clock apologized, walking towards him with her arm extended. “I’m Tauriel.” 

“Bard.” He introduced himself, using two of his fingers to shake her small hand. 

“I imagine you probably have a lot of questions.” She stated, and Bard nodded his head. “Ask away.” Tauriel encouraged, and Bard took a moment to think of what he would ask first. 

“Did someone make sure my daughter made it back safely?” He questioned, asking what was at the forefront of his mind.

“Bofur accompanied her,” Tauriel replied, “so I wouldn’t worry. He’s a wonderful man, and especially loves children. I know he’ll take care of her.” 

Relief rushed through Bard even though he did not know this man that Tauriel seemed to trust so implicitly. It was small hope, but hope nonetheless.

“I hope this isn’t rude, but how can you be… you know… alive?” Bard asked then, thinking that he didn’t particularly care if it _was_ rude.

Tauriel simply smiled, though, and said “That is a long story.”

Bard shrugged and replied with “Well, it seems I’ve got all the time in the world now.” 

The woman gave him an apologetic smile and took a deep breath, seemingly preparing herself for an arduous task. “There is a curse on this castle.” She began. “Ten years ago it was placed by an enchantress on this place and all who inhabited it at the time. She was angry with Thranduil, the master, and wanted to spite him. She did not care about all of the others she was harming in the process, including the prince as well as servants, like me, and even a company of men whom Thranduil had taken prisoner. She cursed him with his scars and everyone else was turned into various objects. It was quite a shock for all of us, as I’m sure you can imagine. The master especially did not take it well.” With that she seemed to be finished, as she smiled sadly at Bard. 

The bowman felt her forlornness as if it were a tangible thing and his heart went out to her and all of the others who no doubt felt the same way as she did. However he thought, wrongly perhaps, that Thranduil probably deserved his punishment.

“Is there no way to break the curse?” He asked Tauriel, and she hesitated a moment before shaking her head dejectedly.

“Not to my knowledge.” With that she put a smile back on her face, changing the subject effectively by saying “Is there anything else you want to know?”

Bard’s stomach rumbled, effectively alerting Tauriel to his next wish. “Can I eat?”

“Of course, where are my manners?” She exclaimed, already turning towards the door. “Oh! And just so you know, this is Ori.” The clock introduced, pointing towards the wardrobe, who Bard could now clearly see had a face. 

“Hello…” He stammered, still not used to the whole ‘talking objects’ thing.

“Hi!” Ori smiled. “It’s nice to meet you! It’s not often we get new people in here. Actually, I haven’t met anyone new since I was human…” Bard wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he simply smiled awkwardly, hoping Tauriel would step in. 

“I’m going to take Bard to the kitchens.” She informed Ori, though he had no doubt heard their entire conversation. “We’ll be back in a little while, okay?” Ori nodded and Tauriel led Bard out of the room and down a maze of hallways, Bard once again thinking that if he had to find his way through these on his own he would surely get lost within minutes. He made a mental note to learn how to navigate them as soon as possible if he was to have any chance of escape. 

When they arrived at the kitchens, Bard was once again blown away by the size and luxury of it all. In sharp contrast with the rest of the castle, the kitchens were a bustle of light and activity. Bard heard loud talking and laughing from around a corner, and he smelled something wonderful cooking. It reminded him of holidays when his wife would cook a special meal using things that they knew they shouldn’t be using simply because they cost too much. Holidays were the only times that neither of them complained about funds; the joyful looks on their children’s faces when they took the first bite of a holiday dinner had been well worth it. The memory left a longing despondence in his heart. Not only was his wife gone now, but his children as well.

The bowman was jolted out of his reverie by an oven blundering towards him with a grin on its face. “Well, now! What have we here? And I thought the boys were fibbing.” The oven rambled. “I’m Bombur.” 

“Bard.” He introduced himself. He seemed to be doing that a lot today, and he suspected that the introductions were far from over. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Bard! Ya hungry?” Bard nodded his head vigorously and Bombur laughed, saying “Follow me.” 

The oven led him around the corner and the bowman was greeted to the sight of a large group of enchanted objects eating at a long table. They appeared to be having a good time, if their laughs and loud conversations were anything to go by. As Bombur led him through the room to sit down at the far end of the table, however, everyone began to quiet. 

“That’s the father, then?” He heard someone ask, and Tauriel came up beside him saying “Yes.”

“It’s nice to meet you, laddie.” A violin greeted, and a chorus of agreements rang out. Bard waved, feeling awkward.

“This is Bard. Why don’t we all go around and say our names?” Tauriel suggested, and everyone voiced their agreement once again.

They started with a suitcase to Bard’s left, who introduced himself as Bilbo. Next was a harp named Thorin, then came a medical supply kit called Óin, the violin who introduced himself as Glόin, a tea canister called Dori, the teapot from earlier was named Fíli, the teacup was named Kíli, a bookcase named Balin, an axe called Dwalin, a wooden toy bird named Bifur, and a trunk named Nori. There was also the candelabrum from before, who introduced himself as Legolas and said that he was the son of Thranduil. Bard had already met Ori, brother to Dori and Nori, and he had yet to properly meet Bofur, who was Bombur’s brother and Bifur’s nephew. He was the one who escorted Sigrid back to Laketown.

Bard was dismayed to learn that he wasn’t back yet, though everyone else seemed to think it was simply because it was unwise to travel through the forest in the darkness of nightfall. They suspected that Bofur was probably staying just outside of Laketown for the night.

Once the introductions were finished, Bombur came and placed a bowl of hot, creamy soup in front of Bard. The man inhaled deeply, salivating at the aroma that invaded his nose. 

“Thank you.” He managed to get out before digging into the meal. He moaned in satisfaction as the comforting taste of potato soup alighted on his taste buds, and Bombur laughed behind him, clapping him lightly on the back.

“You’ll fit in just fine.” The oven smiled and made his way back to the kitchen.

Everyone was very kind to Bard, filling him in on some of their jokes and telling him all about their daily routines that the bowman was soon to become a part of. “We’re prisoners too, you know.” Kíli told him, making Bard wrinkle his brow in confusion.   

“What do you mean?”

“I’m assuming someone’s told you about the curse?” The teacup asked, and Bard nodded. “Well, when the enchantress casted the spell we were being held in the dungeons as prisoners. You can imagine our confusion when we were all turned into this.” He explained with a gesture of his head. “Thranduil let us out of the dungeons only because we cannot leave this place anyway. There’s no place in the world for talking china.”

The fact that he was not alone in his captivity was a small comfort to Bard, and he did not know what to say to Kíli’s confession. Thankfully the rest of the meal passed by with a lot of answering of questions on Bard’s part; everyone had inquiries about various things. Most asked about life outside, though some questioned why Bard and his daughter came to the castle in the first place. He answered all of their questions as best he could, but he was soon tired out and his eyelids began to droop. The bowman was thankful when Tauriel announced that they would see everyone in the morning and led him back to his chamber.

“Tell me honestly; what do you think of them?” Tauriel asked, turning to Bard, and the bowman smiled as best he could at her.

“They seem very nice.” He stated, and Tauriel seemed pleased with that answer.

“Ori sleeps in here usually, but if you’d rather be completely alone I can get him to move.” She explained, but Bard shook his head. In all honesty he would rather sleep alone, but he would feel too guilty if he kicked him out. After all, Ori had been there first.

“It’ll be fine.” He assured her, and Tauriel nodded.   

“Alright then. Your bathroom is right over there,” she pointed, “and Ori has a bunch of clothes for you. I think that’s everything for now… I’ll see you in the morning, okay? I’ll come get you so you don’t get lost, if that’s alright.” Bard thanked her and moved towards the bathroom, eager to get cleaned up and get to bed. He felt fatigue pressing on him like a vice.

When he finally lay down, however, sleep would not come. His mind raced with thoughts, most of his children and how they would take the news that their da was not coming home. He knew that Sigrid was nearly a woman and that they would all take care of each other, but he worried what the master would do to them without their father there to protect them. And how would they make enough money? He supposed there was one less mouth to feed, but still. Bard knew that none of them should have to have such responsibilities and worries at such young ages, but he also knew that there was not much he could do about it now. It would take a bit of time to come up with an effective escape plan, but he could do it. He would have to do it. Leaving his children on their own was not an option. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I'm super excited about this fic and can't wait to see where it goes!
> 
> Thanks so much to my amazing beta, @Shin_Min_Hee9! (And special thanks for putting up with my semicolon obsession) ( ´・‿-)
> 
> Let me know what you guys think! I love hearing from you all ♥


	2. Can't Win

[ **Playlist for this fic** ](http://8tracks.com/crazycatgirll/the-bowman-and-the-beast)

“He wants nothing to do with me, and quite honestly I don’t blame him.” Thranduil spat out, his son taking the brunt of his words.

“Ada, you must at least try. That was his first night here, of course he was defensive. Now that he’s met everyone and seems to have lightened up a bit, maybe he’ll be more receptive to you.” Legolas persuaded, knowing that without his father making an effort the curse would never be broken.

Many a time had he and Tauriel argued over the subject of the curse. It could only be broken if Thranduil loved someone and that person loved him back. Where the rules were vague, however, was on the subject of what kind of love was necessary. For many years now have they all suspected that familial love would do the job just fine, but Legolas could not bring himself to love his father. His resentment towards the man was simply too high. Besides, he didn’t even know if his father loved _him_ , which left another flaw in that little plan. No, the love would have to come from and for someone else, and right now Bard seemed like the most apt candidate. That alone showed just how desperate they were.

Legolas watched as his father’s shoulders slumped a bit, and he knew that he had gotten his way.

“I don’t know how to apologize to him. A simple ‘I’m sorry’ won’t be enough.” The man admitted with a frown.

“Invite him to dinner.” Legolas suggested. “I saw last night how much he enjoyed Bombur’s soup. Maybe he’ll loosen up a bit if you… you know… don’t make him angry. 

His father shot him an exasperated look, and Legolas smirked. “You have to admit, you do have that effect on people.”

“Aye, as do you.” Thranduil replied snappishly.

“I get it honestly.” Legolas shot back. “What time do you want me to tell Bard to be ready?” 

“Do you think seven is too late?” Thranduil asked, and Legolas shook his head.

“No, that’ll be fine. I’ll let Bombur know too.” With that he left his father in the library where he often sat alone. Legolas wasn’t sure what he did in there all day; the young man had never seen him pick up a book and it wasn’t as if his eyesight was all that great anyway, what with one unseeing eye. He didn’t dwell on it, though. If his father wanted to hide out in the library alone in his misery and self-hatred, that was not Legolas’ problem. Only… now it was, since he would need to find ways to get his father to befriend Bard. That would be no easy task, but Legolas was up for the challenge. When the candelabrum arrived at Bard’s door he knocked and the dark haired man opened it.

“Hello, Bard.” Legolas greeted, and the man nodded his head in return. “My father has requested that you meet him for dinner at seven.” He watched as Bard turned to glance at the un-enchanted clock on the wall, which read 4:37. “I will send for Tauriel and Ori to help you prepare at six.” He did not wait for a response from the man for fear of him rejecting the offer. Perhaps if he waited until it was time for dinner to let the bowman voice his opinion, Bard would feel pressured to man up and go. Only time would tell. 

****

Tauriel and Ori showed up at six, just as Legolas said they would. They didn’t waste any time with pleasantries; simply sat Bard down and began to pull articles of clothing from Ori.

“I think this one would look nice, don’t you?” Tauriel asked to no one in particular, pulling out a royal blue button-up top. Bard scrunched up his nose in disapproval and Tauriel sighed, throwing it in a wad onto the floor. “Okay… What about this one?” She continued, pulling out a white top with a high collar.

“I’m wearing what I have on.” Bard stated indignantly, and Tauriel shot him a _you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me_ look. He knew he looked quite frumpy in his borrowed (and oversized) shirt above his own rough spun pants, but he really didn’t care. The bowman simply shrugged and Tauriel and Ori sighed simultaneously.

“Alright, fine. But at least brush your hair.” He agreed to that and, apparently satisfied, Tauriel and Ori left him alone, saying that they would be back within the hour to lead him down to the dining hall. Bard, however, had no intentions of going with them.

When they finally returned, Bard voiced his resistance. A panicked look lighted on the clock’s face, and she hastily replied “I really think you should go.” Bard shook his head no and Tauriel gave him an exasperated sigh. “Please, go. I don’t want to think about how he’ll react if you don’t. It’ll only be for half an hour, I can hurry things along for you.”

But no matter what the woman said, Bard’s mind was made up. He would not go to dinner with Thranduil, and that was that. It was bad enough that he had to be the man’s prisoner; Bard certainly did not want to dine with him. 

Finally Tauriel seemed to resign herself to the bowman’s refusal, and she rubbed her palms over her eyes tiredly. “Fine.” She exhaled. “I’ll tell Legolas.” 

With that she turned and left, leaving Ori and Bard to each other’s company. Neither of them spoke, though Bard could tell that the wardrobe was disappointed. Bard shut the door behind Tauriel with a firm _click_ and fell face first onto the bed. So far his captivity was turning out to be just as dull as one would imagine it to be.

****

“He’s _what_?” Thranduil growled upon hearing the latest development. His scars burned with his rising fury which only served to make him angrier.

“He is refusing to come.” Legolas repeated. “Please keep your temper.” The young man added hastily. “I’m sure if you ask politely he’ll change his mind…” Thranduil felt his blood boil all the more.

“Fine.” He spat, and rose from his seat at the long dining table. He strode through the castle corridors quickly, arriving at Bard’s chambers within minutes. 

His fist on the door generated a loud _thump, thump, thump,_ which Bard apparently did not feel the need to answer to.

“Would you care to enlighten me, _bowman_ ,” he hissed the name sarcastically, “as to why you have stood me up?” Thranduil caught his son’s disapproving glance before returning his glare to the wooden door in front of him.

“I do not wish to dine with my captor.” Bard replied testily, and frustration bubbled in Thranduil’s chest.

Enraged, the blond shouted “Very well. If you don’t eat with me, you don’t eat at all.” He then turned to his son and growled a low “Legolas, make sure this rule is enforced. If I find out someone has been sneaking him food, there _will_ be consequences.” His son nodded reluctantly, and Thranduil stormed away, not knowing or caring where he would end up. 

****

“We can’t just let him starve!” Tauriel protested upon hearing the news of Thranduil’s order. “Judging by what I’ve seen of him so far, he would sooner do that then eat with the master.” Various nods from the company moved around her, showing their agreement. 

“Trust me,” Legolas warned, “we will all be better off to listen to him. I can’t remember the last time I saw him so angry.” 

“Even so, Bard must eat sometime. He seems a decent man; I’d hate for him to go hungry for something as petty as this.” Bilbo argued.

“Petty?” Legolas repeated testily, eyebrows raised. “You think the matter of the curse being broken is _petty_? I thought you a wiser man than that, Bilbo Baggins.”

“Enough!” Tauriel shouted as Thorin moved to lunge at Legolas in defense of his lover. “We will bring him back here to dine with us. It is not as if Thranduil ever comes to the kitchens anyway. He’ll never even know Bard left his chamber.” She heard Legolas sigh exasperatedly beside her, his head hanging in his hands.

“I want no part of this.” He exhaled tiredly. “If my father finds out, no one mentions my name, understand?” Everyone nodded their heads and Tauriel watched as her friend exited the room to go who knows where. 

“If there’s anyone else who wants to leave, do it now.” Tauriel announced, but no one else made to move. “Alright then. Kíli, would you come with me to get Bard?” The teacup gladly followed her out of the room and they made their way towards Bard’s chamber. 

Upon arriving, Tauriel knocked, but Bard didn’t answer. “Bard?” She called out. “It’s Tauriel and Kíli.” Finally they heard footsteps and the door swung open, revealing a disheveled Bard. 

His hair was mussed up even more so than usual, and he had dark circles under his eyes. The green of the bowman’s irises was set off by the red that rimmed them, and it appeared that he had been crying.

“Are you alright?” Tauriel asked, concerned. Bard nodded and rubbed his eyes tiredly, and Tauriel’s heart went out to him. “Come on, you must be hungry.” She prodded and turned, intending for the man to follow her.

“If Thranduil sees – “ Bard began, but Tauriel cut him off.

“Thranduil won’t see. He never comes to the kitchens, and anyway, I’ll take full responsibility if anything happens.” The clock assured. Bard still seemed skeptical, but she knew his stomach would win out in the end.

“Fine.” He sighed resignedly. “Let’s go.” Tauriel and Kíli shared a small smile, and they led the man down to the kitchens.

The smell of roasting chicken wafted throughout the castle, and Tauriel laughed at the soft moan Bard let out. The closer they got to their destination, the stronger the smell became, until Bard’s stomach began to grumble loudly. The three of them were laughing about it as they entered the kitchens, and Bombur grinned at them. 

“I see you managed to get him out.” The oven observed, and Kíli nodded. “Here you go, Bard.” Bombur smiled and handed the man a plate loaded high with chicken and vegetables. Bard thanked him and moved to take a seat at the long table, the greetings of the rest of the company echoing off the walls.

Dinner was much the same as the night before. Many of the guys still had questions about the world outside, and others were curious about Thranduil’s outburst. Tauriel looked on fondly as Bard patiently answered their questions, and briefly touched on his dislike of her master. She admired the way he held himself together so well, even in the face of adversity. Although she had only known the man for two days now, Tauriel felt connected to him in a way she had felt in only a handful of people before; namely Legolas and Kíli. In that moment, Tauriel knew that she would do whatever she could to help Bard feel more comfortable. Who knew, maybe her support of him would eventually lead to something between he and her master, which they desperately needed if Legolas wouldn’t make an effort to break the curse. 

When Bard had finished eating and got a bit of ale in him, he seemed much looser and content. “Tauriel?” He questioned, and the clock turned towards him. 

“Yes?”

“Would you show me around a bit? I’m not too keen on the idea of returning to my chambers so soon.” The man requested. 

Despite herself she nodded, saying “Sure. We ought to keep it down, though. I don’t know how Thranduil would react to seeing you out and about after refusing to go to dinner with him…” 

“Absolutely not!” She heard a voice from behind her exclaim, and turned to see Legolas storming forward. 

“I thought you wanted nothing to do with this?” Tauriel snapped, and the candelabrum shot her a disapproving look.

“I don’t, but if you are going to so blatantly throw yourself and Bard under the carriage, I feel that it is my duty as your friend to step in and tell you that that is a horrible idea. If father finds out – “ 

“The master won’t find out.” Tauriel quipped, effectively cutting Legolas off. “We’re going to show Bard around, and then he’s going back to his chamber.”

Legolas glared at her for a moment then threw his hands up, saying “Fine. But if my father finds out, I’m not putting myself out there for you.” 

“Nor would I want you to.” Tauriel replied. “Follow me, Bard. Kí, are you coming?”

The teacup nodded and the three of them made their way back out into the corridor. Tauriel was not at all surprised to hear Legolas trailing behind them, muttering angrily about the audacity of some people. So began their tour of the castle. 

****

Sigrid’s face burned crimson with fury as she faced her mistress, the woman’s plump form indicating that she had never had to go hungry a day in her life. Around them people bustled to and fro, weaving between brightly colored cabanas. The smell of roasted meat and expensive perfumes wafted through the air, coating Sigrid’s throat unappetizingly. It was a typical day at the market. 

“I don’t care _what_ you saw,” the woman berated, “I need that herb! I expect you to go back in there and get it for me by tomorrow. If you don’t manage to get it, there will be consequences.”

The young woman’s heart felt as if it were about to burst out of her chest with the anticipation of the word she was about to utter. Never before had she told it to anyone, but now those days were behind her. She only wished it hadn’t taken her da being captured for her to work up the courage. 

“No.” She decided, praying that her voice sounded confident. 

Sigrid watched as her mistress’ face contorted into a glare of confusion and she sputtered “What did you just say to me?” 

“I said no.” Sigrid replied, sounding much calmer than she felt. It took all of her effort to keep from shaking, or running away, or both. While she kept herself calm and poised on the outside, inside she was a raging sea of emotions and adrenaline. A surge of satisfaction rushed through her at the horrified look that graced her mistress’ face and she had the good sense to hold back a smirk.

Suddenly a finger was being shaken angrily in her face, but Sigrid was not afraid. She had, after all, faced a monster only yesterday. She had been a completely different person when she woke up the previous morning; timid, dependent on her father, and held back by her mistress. Now she was Sigrid, daughter of Bard, courageous, independent, and her own person. She thought that her father would be proud. 

“You think you are special, girl?” Her mistress spat, her face contorted in an expression of fury. “You think that I cannot replace you? Well, you are terribly mistaken. Confound you, wretch. You and your entire pitiful family!” With that the woman turned away, her skirts hiked up to her knees. Sigrid watched, dazed, as her plump form disappeared into the crowd around the market. The young woman could feel a few curious eyes on her, but she paid them no mind. 

Head held high, she turned and walked towards her family’s home that they had lived in since her ma was alive. As the adrenaline began to wear off, doubt and fear began to creep in. _What if Mistress tells the Master about my disobedience? Will he come after us? Without da here to protect us, I’m not sure we’d be able to defend ourselves… And how will I provide for us all without a job? I suppose Bain could forego his studies and work full time on the barge like da did…_

All of these thoughts and more swirled through her mind as she opened the flimsy front door to their tiny home and kicked off her shoes. It was cold inside with winter approaching, and Sigrid knew that she ought to go chop more firewood unless they wanted to freeze tonight. 

Before she could slip on her shoes again, however, she felt hot tears on her cheeks. The young woman felt foolish at the surge of courage that had rushed through her while talking to her mistress; she was not courageous, nor independent, nor her own person. She was incapable of simply taking care of her two younger siblings, incapable of saving her father from the grasp of a monster. 

Sigrid sank to the floor with her arms wrapped tightly around her abdomen. A sob escaped her and she lay down on the floor in the fetal position, despair overtaking her and blinding her from the truth of her abilities. All she wanted was for her father to hold her, to tell her that everything would be alright, that he was proud of her, but of course that would not, _could not,_ happen. She was on her own, and the weight of that burden was already crushing her.

***

Bard was immensely grateful for the kindness of the enchanted objects. He almost felt bad for using Tauriel to unknowingly aid him in his escape plan… but only almost. His worn boots echoed across the cavernous space as they walked, the only other sound that of Tauriel’s pointing out of various ‘notable’ aspects of the castle. Honestly, Bard couldn’t care less about any of it, yet he paid attention. He didn’t know when any of the information she spouted off would come in handy whilst trying to escape.

Eventually the group came upon a sort of foyer with a grand staircase leading up to another floor. “What’s up there?” Bard questioned, thinking that it might prove useful to know for later on.

Before Tauriel could speak, Kíli announced “That’s the west wing. But the only one who goes up there is Thrand-“

Tauriel and Legolas each cut him off with harsh glares, and the cup tried, in vain, to take back his words.

“That is… um… there’s really nothing of importance up there, so no one cares to go look. It’s horribly boring I’m afraid. Nothing but dust and broken relics I’d imagine…” When he finally stopped blabbering, both Tauriel and Legolas had their heads hanging in their hands.

“Would you like to see the armory?” Legolas suddenly blurted out in a halfhearted attempt to distract Bard from the extremely intriguing stairway before him.

“You have an armory?” Bard questioned excitedly, but it was only an act.

“Yes, yes!” The candelabrum nodded vigorously. “We’ve an entire wall of bows, and nearly any type of sword you could desire.” 

 _Now_ that _was good to know._ Bard followed the trio for a ways, making note of the hallway they had gone down in case he ever needed to get to the armory. After a while he broke away, going unnoticed with the objects caught up in an argument about who was the best archer back when they were human. Apparently all three of them had been forces to be reckoned with when they had a bow in their hands, but with the curse came the end of their archery abilities. Bard tried to imagine how that must have felt; to lose something as fulfilling and useful as archery. Upon arriving back at the staircase to the west wing, however, those thoughts flew instantly out of his mind.

Bard took the stairs two at a time, taking care not to trip in the dimness. When he reached the top, he looked around. It was even darker up here without any candles lining the walls to provide a faint light. The space did not appear to be all that different than the rest of the castle that he had seen. The same paneling and wallpaper lined the walls, and the floors were still covered in ornate carpets with flourishing designs adorning them. 

From the left end of the hall he was standing in, the bowman could barely make out a faint blue glow seeping through a door that was cracked open just a smidge. Curious, he made his way quietly down the corridor and stopped before the door, peaking through the crack.

Inside the room, Bard could see huge windows that stretched from floor to ceiling. Various objects that did not appear to be enchanted were strewn across the floor. In that, at least, Kíli had been honest. Many of the items were broken, shattered, and torn, and Bard wondered what on earth had happened for the place to be in such disarray.

Now even more curious than before, the bowman opened the door cautiously. The hinges elicited a _ccreeaaaakkkk_ , and Bard froze, wincing. He looked over his shoulder, expecting to see the trio he had left behind or worse – Thranduil, but no one was there. He breathed a soft sigh of relief and opened the door just wide enough for him to slip through.

Bard gasped as he took in the scene before him. On the far wall sat a small table with one single rose resting underneath a glass case. This was clearly not just any rose, however, as it seemed to Bard as if it were glowing and, upon closer inspection, floating. It looked almost ethereal; the flower was certainly prettier than any other plant the man had ever seen before.

Slowly he crept closer to it, careful to avoid the debris scattered on the dusty floor. It seemed to emanate a magical quality which made Bard shiver, though in his mind he chalked it up to the chill seeping in from outside. Enormous windows let in a soft glow of moonlight, illuminating the room just enough to see by. The red glow from the flower contrasted in an otherworldly way with the blue tone of the moonlight. 

Bard stopped just before the plant. He could now see three petals fallen around the base of the flower, leaving only four clinging onto the stem. Despite his better judgement, the bowman felt compelled to touch the rose.

Slowly and against his will he reached forward to lift the glass case, a war waging within his mind. No matter how hard he resisted, his hand would not falter. The glass felt cool beneath his palms as he lifted it. All the while he protested in his mind, and the odd feeling that he had felt since entering the room seemed to weigh heavier on his thoughts, so much so until his thoughts were no longer his own.

The feeling increased exponentially once the case was off, and Bard suddenly felt an unnatural cold overtake him. Horrible memories flooded his mind in an instant and he cried out involuntarily. He saw his wife lying in the rickety bed they had shared for years, blood pouring from her mouth as her eyes rolled back in her head. He saw his children weeping, looking to him for strength when he had none to give. He felt the scars on his back burn just like they had the day he had gotten them; the day he had been whipped by the Master for speaking his mind. And he saw Sigrid’s face as she was carried away from this horrible place. The fear, the sorrow, the pain that was written there crushed the man, and he fell to his knees with the weight of it all. 

After what felt to Bard like an eternity, the cold stopped just as abruptly as it had begun. He looked up through tear-blurred eyes to see a marred face glaring down at him. The bowman knew that he should be afraid, but instead he felt a detached numbness.

“I told you not to come here!” Thranduil growled menacingly, and Bard flinched and rose to stand on his feet once again. He felt his legs shaking beneath him and noticed Thranduil clenching and unclenching his fists as if willing himself not to pummel Bard right then and there. “Do you realize what you could have done?” He snarled, his volume rising with each word.

“I couldn’t help it.” Bard stuttered in a futile attempt to placate the monster before him. “It pulled me in, I-“

He was cut off by a guttural yell which made him cower in fear. “Get out!” Thranduil yelled as he picked up a side table lying forgotten on the floor and heaved it across the room.

Bard did not hesitate.

Without a second thought, he made up his mind to leave the cursed place immediately. The bowman sped from the west wing and descended the stairs, stopping only for a split second to try and remember which way the exit was. Adrenaline pushed him forward, and within minutes he had made it to the grand doors that he had walked through only a day before. _Could it really be this simple? Perhaps it was all a ruse to get him killed, and he was walking right into a trap._ Despite his doubts, Bard thought that he did not have much to lose if his only other option was to spend the rest of his days a prisoner to that monster. Decision made, he pulled open the heavy doors with a creak. 

The cold was biting as he stepped outside without so much as a coat, but he paid it no mind. Bard felt naked without his bow hanging from his shoulder and he cursed himself for not keeping a closer eye on it. His only hope was that nothing would think him worth its trouble in this weather. The bow-less bowman felt cold wet drops on his heated cheeks, and he glanced up to see the first snow of winter. Frankly, the timing could not have been worse. Still he ran on, never once looking behind him.

Bard did not get far before he heard a chorus of hisses coming from all around him. It seemed to the man that the sound even came from up above, within the scraggly trees. He stopped in his tracks, the adrenaline he had been running on beginning to diminish. He could see his breath in a plume in front of his face and he realized just how hard the snow was now falling.

Slowly Bard began to see hundreds of beady yellow eyes poking out of the gloom surrounding him. He felt his stomach drop as he saw the first glimpse of a hairy leg that appeared to be as long as his own. Bard had known there were menacing things in Mirkwood, but giant spiders were not something he had expected. With nowhere to run, Bard prepared for a fight. He spotted a broken tree branch lying at his feet and he bent to pick it up. It was heavy in his hands. Although it wasn’t much, and he would much rather have his bow, it was still better than nothing. 

He raised the makeshift weapon as the first spider made its way towards him, its bulbous body barely supported by spindly legs. It suddenly let loose an ear splitting screech. Bard had no time to react before hundreds of the beasts came pouring from every inch of space around him, all converging on the helpless man as his heart beat frantically. The _thumpthump, thumpthump, thumpthump_ drowned out all thoughts he dared to form and he clung to the simplicity of the sound, finding strength in the resounding beat of his very being.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for reading and leaving kudos/comments and just generally being really supportive and awesome! I love you all ∩(︶▽︶)∩
> 
> Huge thanks to my beta, @Shin_Min_Hee9! As always, you're amazing~
> 
> Have a fab week, guys! Let me know what you think ❀◕ ‿ ◕❀


	3. Awash and Alone

[ **Playlist for this fic** ](http://8tracks.com/crazycatgirll/the-bowman-and-the-beast)

Bard steeled himself and swung. 

The branch made contact with the monstrous beast before him, and the thing let out another hideous screech. He felt the crunch of bone radiate from the makeshift weapon up his arms and it made him feel oddly satisfied. The spider hit the ground hard, but Bard had no time to celebrate. For every spider he felled, two more seemed to take its place.

Despite the snow falling so hard that it began to obscure his vision, Bard felt sweat drip down his brow. He breathed heavily in and out, in and out. He fell into a sort of rhythm; _slash, twist, thrust, slash, twist, thrust._ For a while this appeared to be working. The man began to tire quickly, however, and gradually the spiders continued to close the distance between them and him. 

The bowman felt a hairy leg graze his own and he let out a frustrated scream. _He should have gotten his bow. He should have waited to escape when he had an actual plan. He shouldn’t have gone into the west wing. He should have fought Thranduil and ran with his daughter when he had the chance._ The weight of his mistakes bore down on him, making him feel hopeless, as if he were dead already.

His slashes with the fallen branch began to be less calculated and more sloppy. The swings had lost their momentum and Bard was simply thrashing wildly, sometimes connecting with one of the hairy beasts and only cutting the air.

He did not hear Thranduil come up behind him over the never ending hisses of the spiders, nor did he register the man’s presence at first. When he finally noticed him out of the corner of his eye, Bard did a double take. What reason the man had for coming to his aid, Bard did not know. Thranduil held a glinting sword deftly in his hand and cut through the spiders as easily as a knife through butter. His muscles flexed through the silver robe he wore, but Bard did not have time to admire him. 

The pair fought back to back as if they had been doing this for years, their movements calculated and synchronized, and as they mowed through the arachnids, the beasts’ numbers dwindled. Suddenly Bard heard an anguished cry from behind him and watched out of the corner of his eye as Thranduil fell to the cold ground. Bard spun to slash at the spider that advanced upon the maimed man and the impact of stick on bone made a disgusting squashing sound. Green spider blood sprayed over the two men, but Bard paid it no mind. He didn’t think there was a single inch of him that _wasn’t_ covered in the foul smelling goop already.

Now only four spiders remained, and Bard sliced through them with tired arms. With one final thrust, Bard defeated the last of the beasts by slicing its head off of the bulbous abdomen. The bowman allowed himself a moment to breathe, and to thank any god out there for allowing him to live.

Below him, Thranduil moaned. The bowman turned and for a split second he considered leaving the man and returning to Laketown, to his children. Bard immediately felt guilty for even having the thought. Although the man had been insufferable thus far, he _had_ just risked his life for Bard’s own. He owed him if for no other reason than to avoid a guilty conscious.

Mind made up, Bard lifted the man from the ground with a grunt. The going was difficult as the blond was taller than he, and they were both more than a bit slippery from the spider blood coating them from head to toe. 

“Come on, don’t die on me.” Bard ordered between gritted teeth. He was by no means a weak man, but Thranduil was _heavy_. The bowman could feel fatigue creeping into his muscles now that the fighting was over, and he willed them not to give out. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he saw the silhouette of the castle against the darkness of the eerie trees that grasped like boney fingers into the night sky.

“Tauriel! Legolas!” He called out so loudly that his throat burned, hoping that someone would hear and open the door. He was not sure how much farther he could carry Thranduil’s limp form. Thankfully the gate already lay ajar. It was not lost on Bard that that meant that Thranduil had been in quite a hurry to get to him. Why, he could not fathom.

The bowman heard the grinding of the door opening and Tauriel’s voice cut through the air. “Bard!” The clock called as she, Kíli, Fíli, and Legolas made their way towards the struggling pair. “What happened?” All of their eyes widened as they took in Bard and Thranduil’s disheveled (and very green) appearance.

“Spiders.” He replied with a grunt. “Thranduil’s hurt, are any of you medically trained?”

“Óin is.” Tauriel told as she led them inside. The rest of the objects stood anxiously in the foyer, and upon seeing Thranduil’s state, Óin stepped forward immediately.

“What happened?” He asked, and Bard informed him of the events of the past minutes. “It’s been injected with venom.” The man said grimly after a quick inspection of the wound on Thranduil’s left thigh. “We need to extract it if he has any hope of surviving.”

Alarmed murmurs rose around the company, and Bard found himself flinching at the words as well. Thranduil risked his life for him, and he may end up giving it away in the end. But _why_? No conclusion Bard came to made any sense in his mind. Still, he knew that he would do whatever he could to try to save the man’s life, even if he was his captor. 

“What can I do to help?” Bard asked, and Óin took a deep breath as if preparing himself for a long night ahead. “The only thing I know of that can extract this particular type of venom is the leaf of the capolentum plant. It grows in the forest, directly under the base of many trees. It’s not particularly rare, but then again, what with the curse spreading through the forest…” 

“I’ll find it.” Bard said, cutting the man off. He felt that he had no choice but to get it, and that frustrated him to no end.

Óin simply nodded, already pulling out medical supplies from inside himself (did no one else find that disturbing?) and instructed Bard to lay Thranduil’s limp body gently on the marble floor of the foyer. Bard did as he was told, not without struggling to keep the blond man’s arms and legs from folding up under him, and finally rose to a standing position once again.

“Can someone draw me a picture of this plant? I’ll leave immediately to find it.” Bard requested, and Bilbo left to find a piece of paper.                                                                                                       

“I’ll go with you.” Legolas announced, and Bard sorely wished he wouldn’t. It wasn’t as if the candelabrum would be any help in defending them, and the man was sure he would have to carry him what with the snow that was no doubt piling up by now.

The young man must have sensed the hesitation in Bard’s demeanor because he stated firmly “He’s my father. I may not love him and he may not love me, but I would not stand idly by as his captor goes out alone in search of his only chance of survival. Besides, I can provide light.” The flames at the tips of his arms and head flared even brighter at that, and Bard sighed in defeat. He could not blame the boy for wanting to do this; it was not as if he wouldn’t do the same in his position. 

Bard gave a nod of his head to indicate that he would not protest further and presently Bilbo handed him a sketch of a plant with spiky leaves. “It grows at the bases of trees?” Bard questioned once again to make sure he got it right.

“Aye.” Óin nodded. “If you don’t bring it back before daybreak I’m afraid it will already be too late.”

“We’ll have it back.” Legolas stated firmly, and Bard set his mouth in a grim line, hoping that he was right.

“Will you take me to the weaponry? I think it would be wise to bring a weapon or two this time.”

Legolas nodded and the pair branched off down a hallway to their right. When they arrived in the room, Bard was more than a little smitten. “This is amazing.” He breathed as he took in the enormous walls of weapons before him. Training equipment lay forgotten in dusty corners, but the armaments all appeared to be perfectly polished; not one was out of place.

Of course Bard was drawn to the rows upon rows of bows and arrows. He ran his fingers over the strings, wishing for all the world that he had more time to really find one he was comfortable with. With such short notice, he pulled a dark brown bow from the wall that looked to be similar in size to his back home. He also picked up the matching quiver filled with unused arrows just waiting for a target to skewer.

“This will do.” He said, slinging the weapon and quiver over his shoulder. Legolas was already making his way out the door and down the corridor back to the entrance, back to the forest.

Bard was suddenly struck by how crazy this all was. He was saving his captor, who saved him, who may actually _die_ for him. It was all too confusing for the man to even think on, and he needed his mind clear for the night ahead. He shook his head to clear it as they approached the rest of the company.

“We’ll be off then.” He heard Legolas say, and Tauriel embraced him, a worried grimace on her face.

“Good luck, to both of you.” She said, her voice wrought with concern.

“Thank you.” Both he and Legolas managed. They waved to the rest of the objects around them, cast one last look on Thranduil, and escaped back out into the freezing night.

****

Sigrid shivered against her sister on the hard floor of their home. As uncomfortable as the splintery wooden planks were, she thought that she would rather have what was left of the dying heat from their pitiful fire beside her than be only slightly more comfortable, yet even colder, in the rickety bed she and her sister shared. Bain always slept on the floor, so she figured he was accustomed to it. His snores seemed to confirm that suspicion.

Tilda stirred beside the older girl and let out a small noise that encouraged Sigrid wrap her arms tighter around the eight year old. While sleep seemed attainable for her younger sister, Sigrid was not to be granted that respite. Her thoughts and emotions were a whirlwind of fear, anxiety, dread, and no small bit of exhaustion; physical and mental. It was as if a hazy cloud had been placed over her head, or like one of those fancy wedding veils she could never hope to afford, especially now with this unfortunate turn of events.

The pain was the worst in the quiet moments when she had nothing to distract her traitorous thoughts from consuming her totally and completely. Growing up, it was hard enough to be the mother figure without their own mother there to care for them. Now she had to fill the role of both mother _and_ father, and it was all entirely too much for a seventeen year old girl to take on. 

Though it felt as if she could not take a real breath, as if she would simply drop dead from fear and misery, she knew she had to keep it together for her siblings. Three days in and the young woman hadn’t yet broken down in front of them, but ‘yet’ was the key word. She knew it was only a matter of time. What she would do then, she did not know. _Carry on,_ she supposed, _just as I have always done_.

“Sig?” She heard Tilda whisper hoarsely beside her. 

“What is it, Tilda?” 

“I miss da.” The girl sniffled, and Sigrid flipped the girl onto her other side and hugged her closer against her body. The younger girl buried her face in her sister’s neck and curled up in a little ball. 

“I do too. But we have to be brave. He needs us to be brave just as _we_ need _him_ to be brave.” Sigrid told the girl, hoping it would calm her enough to go back to sleep. 

“When will he come back?” Tilda questioned innocently. The girl had not yet fully accepted the fact that her da was, in fact, not coming back ever again as far as anyone knew. The thought threatened to send Sigrid over the edge, but she repressed her rising panic as best she could with a few deep breaths.

“I don’t know.” Sigrid murmured forlornly as she stroked her sister’s hair. “Go to sleep now. You’ve got classes tomorrow bright and early.”

Tilda yawned in response and fingered the ends of Sigrid’s long hair gently, causing the girl to fall back into the welcoming arms of sleep. Sigrid felt a familiar hot wetness on her cheeks and buried her face in Tilda’s frizzy hair, trying desperately not to think about how on earth they were going to survive.

****

Bard forgot to grab his coat again. 

By now the snow was falling even harder than before, and if it hadn’t been for the adrenaline and the knowledge of Thranduil’s imminent fate carrying him and Legolas forward, he was sure that he would have stopped moving a couple hours ago because of the freezing temperatures.

What little light Legolas provided was actually very helpful. Every tree they passed was inspected for the sharp looking plant, yet the weed was nowhere to be found. Both men grew increasingly frustrated the deeper into the woods they went without so much as a hint of a capolentum. Bard was grateful for the lack of hindrances they ran into. The spiders wouldn’t be any match for him with a bow in hand, but he didn’t want to exert any more energy than he absolutely had to. The fight from earlier that got them into this whole mess had drained him. Right now he was running purely on adrenaline and a chronic sense of urgency.

Before he could fully register what was happening, Bard felt himself falling. He hit the ground with a thud, releasing Legolas hard on the ground in the process. Both of them grunted in surprise and pain. A throbbing could be felt in Bard’s big toe, and he inspected the ground to see a rather large root sticking out of the ground. 

“Confounded forest.” He muttered as Legolas stood and brushed himself off. “Sorry,” Bard apologized, “I tripped.”

“I see that.” Legolas snapped, then said “Let’s just keep going. We’ve only got another couple hours to find it if we want to make it back before sunrise.”

Bard stood, brushed off his palms as best he could, and bent to pick Legolas up again. Upon crouching down, the man paused, blinking his eyes in disbelief when he saw the capolentum plant lying below the trunk of the tree that had tripped him. It matched Bilbo’s sketch perfectly, the razor-like, dusty green leaves looking so beautiful in his excitement despite its ominous appearance, and he almost wondered whether he was hallucinating. _Could extremely cold conditions cause hallucinations?_ But his fears were hushed as Legolas turned to see what he was staring at.

The candelabrum gasped and moved to yank the weed out of the ground. He placed it carefully in a bag he wore around his neck and cinched it up with a hopeful look on his face. “Let’s go.” He urged, and Bard picked him up once again. The pair made their way back through Mirkwood in a much quicker pace now that they weren’t stopping with ever dwindling hope at the base of every tree, and Bard dared to believe that the maimed man back at the castle would live to see another day.

****

He was drifting, awash in an endless sea. The waves bore him up and down, up and down, the never ceasing cycle strangely numbing. He vaguely registered someone calling his name. This was not to mention the phantom itch that had begun as a sharp point on his thigh and had gradually spread about his entire body as he lay adrift in the murky water, unable to even lift his head to see where he was. 

The sky above him was dark, yet no stars shone through. This disappointed the man, as he had always found comfort in the celestial orbs. Something about knowing that there were an infinite number of bodies out there that were destined to be alone just as he was, unable to ever get close to another without a portion of the universe crashing down around them, made him feel understood, as if he wasn’t, perhaps, a monster. But he was just deluding himself with that thought. 

Without those kindred spirits hanging in the sky, Thranduil felt alone.

So very, very alone.

****

Bard’s heart pounded against his ribcage as he ran through Mirkwood, carrying Legolas in his hand. Periodically he would peer down at the candelabrum to be sure that the brown cloth bag that held the plant was still in his grasp, which it always was.

Finally the pair rounded a corner and the castle loomed before them once again. Without wasting any time, Bard ran through the open gate and pounded on the towering doors at the entrance. Tauriel opened it almost immediately. Her face was hopeful and Bard gave her a curt nod. The clock’s entire demeanor relaxed and Bard set Legolas down to allow for him to take the weed to Óin who sat on the marble floor attending to Thranduil’s makeshift bandage. The blond had been stripped of his trousers to allow for better access to the wound, leaving him in only his undergarments and a spider-blood soaked shirt. All along his legs were even more scars, and Bard wondered if they spanned the man’s entire body.

As the bowman walked closer to his captor who lay on the cold floor, he could see that he was awake, but barely. The state of the man alarmed him; his face was paler than usual, and contrasting with the green blood he looked almost otherworldly, and not in a good way. His scars only accentuated the hideousness and Bard found himself not wanting to look upon the man any more than he had to. 

“Is he conscious?” Bard asked to no one in particular, and Tauriel answered him.

“We’re not sure. We keep trying to talk to him but he isn’t responding. I’m just glad he’s awake enough to open his eyes.”

A foul stench suddenly assaulted Bard’s nose, which was saying something seeing as he was still covered in repulsive blood. He looked down to see Óin mixing the plant they had just retrieved with something else he couldn’t pretend to know the name of, making a brownish paste.

“I had hoped he’d be unconscious for this…” Bard heard Óin mutter as he bent to slather the mixture on Thranduil’s purple wound, which was swollen and looked utterly disgusting. The brunet felt bile rise in his throat and he had to look away. “Bard, Legolas, Tauriel, would you hold down his arms and legs? I’m afraid this is going to sting pretty badly." 

Each of them moved into position, Bard holding Thranduil’s ankles down, and Legolas and Tauriel each taking an arm. “Alright,” Óin began once the man’s limbs were secured, “ready? One, two, three!”

On three he smoothed a glob of the paste on Thranduil’s thigh. The man called out in an unnerving scream of agony. Bard struggled to keep ahold of his ankles as he kicked out and tried to break free. Legolas and Tauriel seemed to be struggling as well. 

His cries of pain echoed across the castle corridors for what felt to Bard like a small eternity when suddenly they stopped. The man went limp below Bard’s grasp and the bowman looked down to see that Thranduil appeared to be unconscious once again. 

“Is that good?” Tauriel asked worriedly, and Óin made a noncommittal noise.

“He passed out from the pain, no doubt. The extraction seems to be working, but only time will tell whether he’ll live or not. You all can let go of his limbs now.” Bard did as he was told and took a step back from the man lying on the floor. “Give him a good five minutes and then I’ll need you to carry him to his chambers.” The doctor addressed Bard, and he nodded.

The bowman couldn’t help but feel like this was all his fault. He knew that Thranduil didn’t have to come after him, but if Bard hadn’t run away, or better yet, hadn’t gone into the west wing in the first place, none of them would be in this situation at all. Guilt began to itch at him and he tried not to scratch it lest it fester and grow worse.

Five minutes seemed to drag on, but finally Óin announced, “Alright, let’s take him up.” Bard moved to grab him under the armpits and hoisted him up. There was no doubt about it; Thranduil was _extremely_ difficult to carry. It wasn’t that Bard was at all weak, it was simply a combination of the man’s height and long limbs that made him hard to get a good grip on. The stairs they had to climb certainly didn’t help either.

Finally they arrived at the door to Thranduil’s rooms and Bard marched him right in and plopped him down on the enormous canopy bed. “Someone will need to stay with him through the night.” Óin announced, and before Bard could even register what he was saying, the words “I’ll do it” were out of his mouth.

Looks of shock flashed across the faces of the various objects, and Bard raised an eyebrow as if daring them to question him, despite his own shock at his words. None did, and Óin finally sighed “Alright, then. You might want to get cleaned up first, though.” 

“Yeah, you reek.” Tauriel added, and Bard let out a huff of laughter.

“Alright.” He made to walk out of the room and make the trek through the corridors to his chambers, but Legolas stopped him.

“You can use my father’s washroom. There’s no sense in you going all the way back to yours.”

Bard nodded his head in thanks and turned to step into the washroom and finally wipe the layers of spider blood and other grime from his skin. The water that fell from the tap in Thranduil’s shower was steaming hot, and Bard only realized how tense and exhausted he was once the first few heated drops rolled down his bare shoulders. The day had been a long one, and he was glad that it was nearly over. Bard would have much preferred to sleep in the bed in his own chambers underneath the luxurious covers, but apparently his guilty conscious was not going to allow him that.

Once he was scrubbed clean and felt like he would fall asleep just standing there, he got out of the shower chamber and dried himself with the nearest folded white towel. Bard dressed in a pair of clothes Legolas had handed him from inside Thranduil’s wardrobe (that didn’t happen to be enchanted). They were too big on him, but it didn’t matter. The man figured that the baggier it was, the comfier it would be anyway.

When he exited the washroom and entered into the bedchamber once again, he saw that a fire had been started in the fireplace on the wall opposite the bed, which he was glad for. The orange glow of the fire reflected across Legolas’ metal figure, reminding Bard of the nights he would sit up with his children telling them bedtime stories despite the knowledge that every one of them would be exhausted come morning.

Legolas sat on a wooden chair beside his father’s bed. Bard could see that the scarred man had been cleaned and redressed, though he would still need a shower when he came to. Bard hoped that would be soon. He didn’t like that the man was unconscious as it felt too much like he was dead. If Thranduil died because of Bard’s foolishness, he would have a very hard time forgiving himself.

Legolas looked up as the brunette made his way to the side of the bed where the candelabrum sat. “I’ll take it from here.” He offered, and Legolas nodded and hopped down from the seat.

“Goodnight.” The young man offered as he left the room. Bard didn’t have the energy to say it back. 

Once Legolas was gone, the bowman looked on Thranduil’s sleeping form and tried to picture him as Tauriel had described: stunningly beautiful, yet he could not do it. The scars really were hideously grotesque, and for the first time he wondered whether they hurt Thranduil at all. At least he looked more peaceful while he slept, less deformed. Bard pictured in his mind the way Thranduil had appeared in the west wing. Truly he looked like a monster then, and the memory of the crushing weight he had felt in that room only to resurface to that hideous face sent a shiver down the bowman’s spine. 

Inevitably, his thoughts drifted to the strange flower and the reason for the pain he had felt. No doubt it was the result of magic, and he figured it was probably linked to the curse on the castle. Why Thranduil was so bent on protecting it, though, was beyond him. Perhaps he would ask Tauriel in the morning. For now, he could feel sleep weighing heavily on him. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, the weight of all that he had been through in only a few short hours made his eyes droop with fatigue. Bard simply plopped down in the chair, laid his head atop his crossed arms on the mattress of Thranduil’s bed, and fell into a deep and welcome sleep, pretending that the weight beside him belonged not to his captor, but to his children. 

****

Tauriel shook with anxiety that had grown exponentially within the last couple hours. When she, Kíli, and Legolas had stopped their arguing over who was the better archer in the days when they had proper hands and realized that Bard was no longer trailing behind them with feigned interest, she knew immediately where he had gone. Though they had made their way back to the west wing as fast as their cursed forms could carry them, they were not fast enough. Tauriel had seen the haunted look in his eyes and knew what had occurred. Hadn’t she gone through the exact same thing, around ten years ago?

Before she could climb the wide stairs, her master appeared; his expression a stormy mix of anger and guilt that wrenched her heart. Though he had been a vain and loveless man, and though those qualities had dragged them all into this horrible mess in the first place, Tauriel could not help but pity him. She knew he wanted out of this curse just as much as the rest of them, and yet why he could not make a proper effort was beyond her. Perhaps there was simply no love in him, and there would never be.

It was a morbid thought.

The clock had not hesitated to chew her master out, though he had inevitably snapped at her in return. It was only when they heard the echo of what must have been a hundred unnatural screeches that could only come from one thing that a horrified look made its way onto Thranduil’s face.

“Go to him, please.” Tauriel had begged, but she really hadn’t needed to. The scarred man was already bounding down the staircase, taking two steps at a time, and racing out the door without so much as a second thought.

When the pair had returned, one alive and one only just, Tauriel had to bite back tears of relief and of fear. When Bard disappeared again, this time with Legolas, it took everything in her not to break down. The only thing that kept her going, albeit with numb and shaky movements, was the knowledge that her master needed her. 

She and the others helped Óin as best they could, though she suspected that she was the only one there doing it out of loyalty instead of fear that they wouldn’t be turned human again, and it was even a fifty-fifty split for her. The thought left a foul taste in her mouth and she willed it away as she wiped her master down with a wet cloth, sweat pouring off of his unconscious form. 

Legolas and Bard finally came back after what felt like an eternity, both looking a bit worse for wear, particularly the brunet. The same green blood covered him from head to toe as covered Thranduil, and it left a foul stench in the air. When she had pushed open the heavy doors to reveal the two and Bard gave her the faintest of nods, she had exhaled a proper breath, which she did not think she had done since the pair left in the first place.

The rest of it all was mostly a blur to her; she recalled holding down one of her master’s arms as he screamed from the pain that the herb paste on his wound caused. Somehow Bard managed to carry the man up to his chambers and she had helped Legolas to clean him up as Bard cleaned himself in the washroom.

Though she and her friend did not speak what was at the forefront of both of their minds, Tauriel knew that in actuality, there was not much to say that the other didn’t already know all too well. If Thranduil died before the curse was broken, they would stay as objects forever, doomed to live out the rest of their lives without hope and stuck inside the castle, alone and unable to ever be normal again.

The thought was enough to send her careening over the edge of sanity and into madness, so she stopped those cancerous thoughts by thinking of all that could go right. Her master would recover, and somehow she and the others would get him and Bard together, she just knew it. There was undeniable potential between the two men; they simply had some obstacles to get through before that potential could be realized. Tauriel would make it happen; she had no other choice. 

Just as she and Legolas were finishing their wiping down of Thranduil’s unconscious form, Tauriel heard clinking footsteps coming down the corridor. Of course the clock immediately recognized the footfall as belonging to Kíli, and she turned to see him enter the room wearing a look of concern. Instead of marching up and helping them, or bugging them until Tauriel relented and went off with him as she expected the cup to do, he simply stood in the doorway and waited patiently as they finished their task. It was only when she heard the sounds of Bard drying off from within the washroom that she put down the cloth and made her way over to Kíli.

“How is he?” The young man questioned as Tauriel followed him out of the room and into the dim hallway. 

“Still unconscious.” Tauriel replied with a frown. “We were just wiping him down a bit.”

Kíli simply grunted forlornly. “And if he doesn’t wake up…” 

“Then we all stay like this. Forever.” Tauriel finished even though they both already knew the answer to that question, and they walked on in silence for a while.

Both intrinsically knew where they were headed even without speaking it aloud. When the curse had first been cast upon this place and they had begun to form a friendship that held the possibility of something more, they had managed to find a little alcove that no one else knew about. In there they could escape, even if only for a moment, and pretend like they were normal, like they could simply walk outside and enjoy a pleasant afternoon with their bows, talking and laughing and just enjoying each other’s company. Although the reality was not nearly as sweet, Tauriel thought that it certainly could have been worse. 

They rounded the corner and made their way over to the dusty old fireplace at the end of the hall. Tauriel led the way behind the piece and the pair entered into a dark hole in the wall behind it. The narrow passage opened up into a room about five feet by five feet; the perfect size for a clock and a teacup to mingle.

Of course Kíli had put on his signature charm once again, which Tauriel found herself to be grateful for. She could use a distraction, and Kíli would be a most welcome one.

As per usual, the pair plopped down together on the wall opposite to where they entered and curled around one another. Tauriel was content to simply listen to Kíli’s soft breathing and forget about what was going on just a couple corridors away, but apparently Kíli was not. 

“Tauriel?” The clock heard her name murmured into the stale darkness. 

“Yes?” 

Kíli hesitated a moment before asking “Do you think you could ever love me?”

“I already love you.” The clock replied. Though she knew what her friend meant, she found herself unwilling or unable to answer him. Instead they sat in silence, holding onto each other, and hoping that one day they just might be something more.

****

Bard awoke the next morning to the sound of a knock at the door, and he sat up and turned to see Tauriel and Legolas enter with a plate of food. The man’s head still felt foggy with the aftereffects of sleep, and he rubbed at his eyes groggily. Thranduil, he noticed, was still fast asleep next to him, and it appeared that the man hadn’t moved all night. Judging by the painful crick in his neck, Bard hadn’t either.

“How is he?” Legolas questioned as he passed up the plate of eggs, toast, and fruit to Bard.

“I don’t know.” Bard replied. “I only just woke up." 

Legolas nodded and made to climb up on to the bed as best he could by using the bench that sat at the foot of it. “He still smells terrible.” Tauriel noted as she scrunched up her nose. “Someone will need to help him get clean if… _when_ he wakes up. He’s not going to be happy.” 

Bard’s heart clenched at the thought of Thranduil not waking up, and he did not know why. By all accounts, he should be relieved at the prospect of the man dying, if only for the gaining of his freedom. But the truth was he pitied these people who had been thrown into this for no reason other than they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. He even pitied Thranduil, if he was being honest with himself.

Though he did not know the whole story, Bard figured that if his charming personality was anything to go by, the man had probably brought the curse upon himself and all those unfortunate enough to be within range of the enchantment. Oddly enough, the thought did not make Bard angry, rather it made him feel a sense of understanding. 

After all, had he not lost his own wife due to his own foolish actions? None would admit it, but everyone in Laketown suspected that his wife had been poisoned because of his disloyalty to the Master of Laketown. And while Bard knew that his wife and children did not blame him, he of course blamed himself. 

Now looking down on the maimed man lying still beside him, the only reassurance of his being alive that of his chest rising and falling ever so minutely, Bard felt a connection to this man and felt that perhaps there was more to him than met the eye.

“When he wakes I’ll get Bofur, and we’ll help him get clean.” Legolas told as he stared at his father. It was strange to Bard that the young man’s expression would be so impassive, though he understood that the relationship Thranduil and Legolas had was nothing at all like the one he had with his own children. 

 _His children_. The thought of them sent a spike of longing for them and bitterness at Thranduil coursing through the brunet. The snow had been harsh last night and he knew how drafty their little house was. Bard hoped that they were alright, and that the Master wouldn’t try anything while he was gone. 

Though Bard did not want to see Thranduil dead, he did not particular care to see him at all. An escape was still on Bard’s mind, he simply needed to plan it. But in order to do that, he would need to learn everyone’s typical routines. He already had a fairly good start with seeing that everyone save Thranduil stayed down in the kitchens for hours every evening, but it wasn’t as if he could leave then; he was always expected there with them and if he was gone they would surely know something was up. No, he would need to keep paying attention and plan the ideal time. It was simply a matter of being patient. 

As Bard ate, Óin made his way into the room looking very tired. “How is he?” The medic questioned, and Bard offered a shrug.

“I only just woke up, and he hasn’t been awake at all.” Óin _hmphed,_ as he tended to do, and began to feel Thranduil’s forehead and check his wound. 

“The swelling has gone down immensely.” He announced with a nod, apparently satisfied. “I think it worked. We’ll just need to wait for him to wake up and we’ll see how he’s feeling; he should be much better than last night.”

Just as he said it, Thranduil began to stir. He let out a low moan and reached up a hand to rub at his face. When he opened his eyes, the crystal blue of them shocked Bard. Despite having only woken up, somehow the scarred man’s gaze was intense and sharp, and it unnerved him. 

“What happened?” Thranduil groaned, and hesitant glances were traded around the room before Tauriel looked at Bard and said “You were there with him. I think you ought to tell it.”

Bard took a deep breath and turned to face Thranduil, then asked “What do you remember?”

“I ran after you.” The man told as he held his gaze, and Bard was glad he remembered that at least. For some reason, he felt that he needed to know _why_. “You were shouting and there were screeches and I didn’t know what else to do, so I went to offer aid. When I got there I fought the beasts off alongside you and… that’s all I can remember.”

Bard nodded and took a deep breath, preparing himself for the explanation ahead. He told Thranduil of his wound, at which point the man flinched and gave a knowing look, apparently very aware of it. Bard also told of the trek back to the castle, and then the trip he and the man’s son had taken to find some plant that was able to extract this particular poison. 

When he finally finished recounting the tale, Thranduil stared up at him with those eyes, and Bard could not help himself from glancing away from their intensity. Then came the question the bowman had so been dreading receiving: “Why?”

Truthfully, he did not know why he had been so keen to save Thranduil; no matter how he rationalized it, it simply didn’t add up. So what he answered with was “I may not like you, but I don’t want you dead.”

Thranduil did not move his piercing gaze from Bard’s face until Legolas cleared his throat and asked “Would you like Bofur and I to help you bathe, father?” With a nod Thranduil finally turned away, and the hat rack helped the blond to the washroom as the candelabrum followed behind. 

“I’ll make sure his sheets get cleaned.” Tauriel announced, and began to tear them off one by one. “You’re free to do what you want.” She told, and Bard perked up a bit. There was one place he had wanted to visit ever since he saw it the night before.

“Do you think someone could take me to the weaponry?” The man questioned, and the two brothers on the floor nodded enthusiastically.

“We’ll take you.” Fíli told, and with that the three of them were making their way through the corridors to the weaponry.

“I know it seems odd to say this since we’re prisoners too,” the teapot said as they marched through the halls, “but thank you for helping him. He’s the only chance we have of breaking the curse.”

Bard simply nodded and said “I don’t know that I deserve a thank you for sparing someone’s life, but you’re welcome.” After a few moments of silence he added “I meant what I said; I don’t want him to die. Such a thought is a horrible thing to wish.” Both brothers nodded and no one said anything more until they stopped in front of a door Bard recognized from the night before: the weaponry. 

The bowman laid his palms flat on the wood and pushed, the hinges eliciting creaks of protest. Despite having witnessed it before, Bard let out a gasp at the sight of the enormous space. There was simply so _much_. 

Rows upon rows upon rows of swords and knives lined one wall, and bows and quivers filled with arrows lined another. The spot where the bow Bard had taken last night had sat was empty. Targets leant up against another wall and sat in dusty corners, as well as less common weapons like axes, knuckle dusters, spears, and various other armaments. Bard’s fingers twitched in anticipation of getting to use a bow for leisure, and both Fíli and Kíli grinned up at him knowingly.

“Go on, then.” Fíli laughed, and Bard took the last step through the doorway and strode over to the wall of bows and quivers.

Immediately his gaze traveled to one of the longer, thinner bows. Its make made it look like it would be sturdy, yet not stiff, and he was eager to try it out. Below the bow sat a matching quiver and arrows, and Bard ran his fingers appreciatively over the fletching on one of them.

Across the room, the two brothers had shifted one of the targets so that it stood erect in front of the wall opposite the bowman. Bard swung the quiver over his shoulder and pulled out an arrow, taking a moment to inspect it. He then placed it up against the large bow and pulled back, feeling the satisfying stretch of the bowstring. He breathed in, and then on the exhale Bard released the arrow, sending it flying through the air to smack directly into the little round target about thirty yards away. 

“Not bad.” He heard Kíli appraise below him.

“Too easy.” Bard complained, knowing that this was not the challenge he craved. “I need a moving target.”

There was a moment’s pause, then Fíli suggested “We could toss something into the air if you want.”

Bard scanned the room, his gaze landing on a trunk full of equipment. He strode over to the box and peered inside, seeing a plethora of varying items that seemed to have no rightful place. The bowman dug through the cluttered assortment and came up with two foam balls that looked like they had seen better days. 

“These will do.” He stated, tossing them to the china below him. “Can you throw those back and forth in the air?” He was met with grins and nods, so he went back to his previous spot against the far wall as Fíli and Kíli carried the little foam targets with them to the opposite side of the room.

Bard readied an arrow and narrowed his eyes in concentration as the two brothers took their positions. When the yellowed ball was airborne, Bard released the arrow and it lodged itself in the sphere with a _thunk_ and clattered against the stone wall. 

This was more like it. 

The trio kept at it for a while, laughing and generally employing silly antics. When Bard finally ran out of arrows from a second quiver, he turned to put his borrowed bow back on the wall with a contented sigh. It felt good to forget about his worries and problems for a while, but all too soon it all came crashing back down on him; a weight upon his shoulders which only grew heavier and heavier with each passing day.

The bowman made to sit against the wall where Fíli and Kíli stood picking at the emaciated foam balls. Bard plopped down with a grunt.

They sat in silence for a couple minutes (a rare occurrence for the brothers) before Kíli sighed and announced “What I wouldn’t give to be able to shoot again.”

Bard turned his head to look down at the teacup, remembering his and Legolas’ and Tauriel’s conversation from the other day, before Bard had so foolishly snuck away and allowed everything to go wrong. 

“Can the curse be broken?” The man asked, feeling selfishly glad that at the very least he could still hold a bow and shoot an arrow. Without that escape, Bard was sure he would go crazy in this place. 

Kíli and Fíli hesitated for a moment and traded glances before nodding carefully in answer, and Bard knew they were holding something back from him, despite the fact that he was just as trapped as they were.

“Well how?” He asked impatiently, and the brothers sent each other the same wary looks as before.

“We’re not supposed to tell you…” Kíli grimaced, and Bard’s eyebrows shot up at that.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” The brunet deadpanned, but neither Kíli nor Fíli made to say anything else. “Come on, I’m just as stuck here as you are; why can’t I know anything?”

“It’s not our rule,” Fíli frowned before Kíli could say anything, “sorry.”

Bard simply sighed and stood from the floor, wiping his hands on his borrowed trousers. “Fine.” He exhaled and moved to leave the room.

“Where are you going?” Kíli questioned, but Bard did not answer. He was tired of being in the dark, the familiar ache of missing his children was throbbing painfully in his chest, and honestly he wanted nothing more than to be alone. The man heard the door shut loudly behind him, and as he strode through the vast labyrinth of corridors hoping that he would be able to find his way to his chambers, he wondered if saving Thranduil had really been the right thing to do. 

****

Thranduil lay back against the pillows that had been propped up for him on his enormous canopy bed, the satin of his freshly cleaned sheets cool against his bare skin. Waking up to a throbbing pain in his thigh and the prisoner – Bard – by his side had been disorienting to say the least. Thankfully Óin was there to put some horrid smelling salve on it, which made the pain a bit more manageable. 

Of course the man was immensely thankful for having people there who were willing to help him, though he knew that none of them really cared about him. Why would they? He was the one who had brought this upon them, after all.

Thranduil was many things, but he was not a fool; he knew that if he wasn’t the key to the curse being broken he would be dead by now, no doubt killed in his sleep, or poisoned, or simply thrown to the beasts of Mirkwood. Quite honestly, he wouldn’t blame them in the slightest. 

Truly the only thing that kept him from ending it all for himself was the knowledge that without him, everyone else under the curse would never be human again, and he did not wish that upon them. The compassion in his heart had certainly grown since the curse was placed, but it was not enough. No, he needed to love, and be loved in return. 

Memories of a time not so long ago, and yet entirely too long, flashed through Thranduil’s mind. He could remember a time when his beloved forest was beautiful; lush and green and sprawling, teeming with activity and people living simple, happy lives. He once had beauty to match the splendor of Mirkwood, and everyone far and wide knew that there were none so fair to look upon as him. It was something he took pride in, and Thranduil could find no one worthy of his love and of the position of royalty that would come with their marriage.

That was, until his wife came along.

She had come without warning, simply showing up at the castle doors one day with a smirk on her ethereal face and power in her stance. Thranduil had fallen for her instantly. What they had was less love, and more lust, but Thranduil never craved anything more. He could only focus on his lover’s beauty and power, too consumed by her appearance to notice how she was ruining him, and consequently the country.

In hindsight they had been foolish and uncaring for consequences that would arise from their careless actions. When his love revealed that she had become pregnant, they rushed to finalize their togetherness with a marriage ceremony. At the time Thranduil did not realize there was no love between them, as he had never experienced it before. Many a night after the fact had Thranduil laid awake, thinking of how different things would be if he had only listened to that niggling caution in the back of his mind, but of course it was too late to change anything now.

Nine months later a child was born, the light of Thranduil’s life, and they agreed to name him Legolas. Thranduil had insisted; he could remember being only a child and knowing that he would one day name his son that. It meant green leaf, and it reminded him of his beloved forest. His wife had been none too happy about the name, saying that Smaug would suit the boy far better, but Thranduil stood his ground.

It wasn’t two months after the birth of Legolas that the King and Queen of Mirkwood died in their sleep. The royal doctor was summoned and after some inspection she announced that they died of a rare disease that killed instantly. Thranduil was devastated at the loss of his parents, and the stress of being thrust into kingship did not make the burden any easier to bear; quite the opposite, in fact. 

The combination of having a newborn son, losing his parents, and suddenly becoming king was too much all at once, and a side of Thranduil rarely seen came out. He became harsh and uncaring, neglecting to pay the slightest bit of attention to his wife or his son for eleven years in favor of immersing himself in his duties as king. He argued that Mirkwood needed him, and in his mind that excuse was as good as any. His wife, however, did not feel the same way. 

Thranduil could remember the look on her face as she stood in the doorway of his study, tears streaking down her pale cheeks and a glare that could turn someone to ash in her gaze. The memory of her voice as she growled “You are a monster, Thranduil; a beautiful, ugly monster. Now everyone will see just how hideous you are.” sent shivers down his spine even now.

Thranduil recalled looking on in horror as she rose up before his very eyes, seeming suddenly to be ten feet tall. The air darkened around her and it seemed to him as if the sun blazed from her eyes, blinding him with her terrifying glory. Her voice was like thunder as she chanted in a foreign tongue, striking a piercing fear into his heart before a searing pain lit up his entire body. Thranduil called out in pain and the last thing he remembered before falling to the ground was the sound of her voice cryptically saying “If you do not learn to love before the last petal falls, you will stay a monster forever.” 

Upon waking from what he thought was a nightmare, he realized that it was not so. The searing, burning pain that coursed through him, dancing underneath his skin, was all too real. The shock of finding his son, one of his young servants, and the company of men he had taken prisoner running around confusedly as various household objects and seeing his own maimed body was nearly enough to send him over the edge, but it was the sight of his beloved forest, burnt and black and deserted, that sent him spiraling into near madness.

Thranduil became reclusive and angry at everyone and everything, and while he knew it was not the answer, hopelessness overtook him like a wave crashing over a derelict ship. He would never find someone to love, and even if he did, no one would dare to love him back. The weight of what he had done not only to himself, but also to the people who were unfortunate enough to be within range of the spell and to the forest and those who called it home lay heavy upon him, and since then Thranduil had never been sure how much longer he could bear the burden of it.

The irony was not lost on the man that the very place he had loved with all of his being, the place that had felt like an extension of himself, had become his tomb.

He knew what everyone talked about when they thought he wasn’t listening: that Bard could be the one to break the curse, that Thranduil needed to man up and make a move, that it was all hopeless and in vain. Yes, Thranduil had heard it all, but what they didn’t understand was that he was so close to giving up that nothing mattered anymore, and that this false hope would surely break him.

It was only a matter of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it took so long for me to update! Life has been busy ~
> 
> I'm not entirely happy with this chapter... I feel like maybe it lacks in imagery? I'll probably go back and edit it (and the others) over the summer when I have a bit more time. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you guys think; I love hearing from you all :)


	4. There is a Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shows up four months late with the next chapter*
> 
> (This chap is unbetaed so I apologize for any mistakes)

[Playlist for this fic](http://8tracks.com/crazycatgirll/the-bowman-and-the-beast)

Today was not Tilda’s day.

She had been late to class, earning her a missed recess and a job cleaning the classroom while her friends went and played. Then she realized that she had lost her home assignment and Mr. Lickspittle shouted at her in front of the entire class. And _then_ Berga, the meanest girl in her class, had the nerve to call her da lazy and say that ‘him being gone is actually a service for Laketown’.

Honestly, what was she to do other than punch Berga right in the nose?

Unfortunately Mr. Lickspittle didn’t think that was an appropriate response and actually said that he agreed with Berga, which made the rest of the class laugh. Mr. Lickspittle didn’t have time to send her home before Tilda had run out the door of the school building and stomped her way home, all the while biting her cheek to hold in her tears. 

Sigrid was already there when Tilda marched through the door, throwing off her coat in anger.

“You’re home early.” Sigrid noted without turning around. When Tilda didn’t answer, the older girl finally looked. “Til, what’s wrong?” She questioned, rushing over to envelop her sister in her arms.

But before the girl could get out any words, the tears choked her up.

“Hey, it’s alright.” Sigrid consoled, rubbing circles into Tilda’s back. “Come on, tell me what’s happened.”

“Berga… she… she…” Tilda sniffled, wiping her nose with the back of her hand, “she called da lazy. And she said that the town is better now that he’s gone.”

Tilda felt her sister’s grip around her tighten. “Don’t listen to her, Til. She’s just jealous because da is so amazing. You know she doesn’t have parents; imagine how that makes her feel.”

“Well it doesn’t give her the right to talk about da like that.” Tilda choked out, anger bubbling in her veins. “I’m glad I punched her.” 

“You punched her?” Sigrid exclaimed, pulling away from Tilda to look her over. “Tilda, you can’t just punch people!”

“She deserved it and you know it!” Tilda cried, hurt that her sister would side against her in this.

“You’re right,” Sigrid sighed, “she probably did deserve it. But that still doesn’t mean that you should have punched her. What would da say?”

Tilda’s gaze dropped to the floor as she thought about what her da would say to her if he were here right now. He definitely wouldn’t be happy that she had punched someone, even if that someone was Berga. 

“He would say it was wrong and that I should apologize.” Tilda frowned, and she saw Sigrid nod. 

“Yeah. No more hitting, okay?”

The most the girl could do was nod and wipe her eyes with her sleeve.

****

Bard was lost deep in his thoughts when a light knock sounded at the door to his chambers. He jumped in surprise, then felt a hot blush rise on his face when he realized that Ori was not at all discreetly staring at him with a frown.

The bowman finally had a plan to get out of this hellhole and back to his children, and he kept running it over and over again in his mind. Perhaps _hellhole_ was a bit of an exaggeration, but still, he would certainly not call it pleasant. 

The plan was this:

In his time spent at the palace, Bard had begun to notice typical routines that were followed almost down to the minute every week whether the members of the palace noticed it or not. Part of this pattern was a rather loud and intense card game played down in the kitchens every third day of the week at nine o’clock sharp. Bard had gone down and played a couple of times, and he quickly began to realize that it was one of the only times that everyone was occupied and no one was wandering around the hallways and ducking in various rooms for one reason or another. In other words, the perfect time for him to sneak out.

It would not be difficult to feign fatigue once everyone began to play the game, and likely no one would bother to keep an eye on him since the members of the palace could never seem to pass up a competition. Once alone in his rooms he could lock the door and sneak out the window in the bathroom. He would need to find a way to get a bow snuck into his room and hidden safely away until he needed it, but that shouldn’t be too hard. After all, the palace was a large place and there were not many people – or objects, for that matter – living there. 

It was not a very elaborate or seamless plan, but Bard figured it would do the job. Perhaps his need to see his children and make sure they were alright was clouding his thinking, but quite frankly the bowman didn’t care. It was the best attempt to escape he could make at the moment; the most difficult part would be in waiting for the time to come without raising suspicion… 

Another _rap rap rap,_ more impatient this time, sounded at the door and yanked Bard out of his thoughts once again. Ori was still eyeing him oddly from the other side of the room and Bard cleared his throat as he got up off of the canopy bed and opened the wooden door to see Tauriel smiling an entirely unconvincing smile up at him. He raised his eyebrows as if to question why she was there before she spoke.

“Hiya Bard!” She greeted a little too cheerily.

“Tauriel.” He nodded once in greeting, suspicion in the forefront of his mind.

“So I know this is going to sound less than appealing, but Master Thranduil has requested that you join him for dinner…” 

That was not what he had been expecting the clock to say.

“I… Why?” He asked, at a loss for words. He had been quite content to ignore Thranduil at all costs despite living in the man’s palace, but apparently the blond did not feel the same way.

“I don’t know.” Tauriel confessed. “If I had to guess, to thank you for saving his life. But then he isn’t exactly a predictable man.”

Bard sighed and ran a hand through his hair, thinking. If he refused to go, what would his captor do? And if he did go, how would the encounter leave him feeling? Bard supposed he could at least give it a shot. If nothing else there would be a chance he could learn something relevant to the aid of his escape plan. 

“So will you go or not?” Tauriel questioned.

“Yes,” Bard decided aloud, “I’ll go.”

“Wonderful.” The clock smiled. “I’ll be back in an hour to help you dress.” With that she left Bard and Ori alone, the latter with a slight smile on his face.

“I’m glad you’re going.” Ori told. Bard had quickly learned that the wardrobe was a man of few words and that when he said something it was sincere and for good reason. The bowman bobbed his head in answer and moved to lie on his bed once again, picturing in his mind what his children might be doing in that exact moment.

****

He felt like a schoolchild with a crush and that was disarming to say the least.

“Ada, honestly. You look fine.” Thranduil’s son told exasperatedly. The younger had come to help him dress for his dinner with Bard, and while the man knew his son had done a wonderful job dressing him he still felt… out of place. Like a string that was being pulled far too tight. 

Honestly he tended to always feel this way around the bowman – not that they had spent all that much time together. Still, despite the oddness Thranduil thought the feeling was almost pleasant; teetering right on the edge of terrifying and exhilarating.

“Is the necklace too much, do you think?” He questioned, straightening his sleeves in the ornate mirror on the wall of his bedroom.

“No, you look great. Now go on or you’ll be late.”

With one last, unsure glance in the mirror, careful to avoid looking at his face, Thranduil was shooed by Legolas out the door of his chambers. The man made his way (slowly, as his spider bite had not yet fully healed) down to the formal dining hall. He paused only once in the mindset to turn back and call the dinner off entirely, yet he pushed forward.

Finally he sat in the seat at the head of the long table and began to anxiously await the arrival of his guest. With a subconscious flick of his head Thranduil’s hair shifted to cover the worst of the scarring on his face. The man did not typically care about hiding his hideousness from anyone, though with Bard it was different somehow.

Bard made Thranduil acutely aware of his ugliness both inside and out, and for once he dared to wonder whether or not that was such a bad thing.

 ****

Bard was nervous as he followed Tauriel and Kíli through the hallway, though he did not know why. He had no reason to fear his captor (the man had, in fact, saved his life), yet his palms sweated and as they walked he had to wipe them on the trousers Ori and Tauriel had all but forced him into not ten minutes before. The trio stopped at a set of carven double doors and Tauriel announced that they had arrived.

“We’ll let you walk in alone. Enjoy your meal. And please try to stick it out no matter how insufferable he is, for all of our sakes.” Tauriel requested, and Bard nodded, taking a deep breath. 

“Of course.”

“Would you like me to stop by your chamber afterwards?” The clock questioned, but Bard shook his head.

“No, that’s alright. I’ll find you tomorrow.”

“Alright, then. Good luck.”

With that the friends left Bard to stand alone in front of the doors, trying to muster up the courage and the will to open them. He took a deep breath, then another, and finally he straightened his back and pushed open the wooden slabs.

The dining room was certainly grand, though Bard thought it a bit difficult to tell with the dim lighting in the space. The only sources of light came from various candles around the room that, as far as Bard could tell, seemed unenchanted. Combined, it all created quite an intimate, almost eerie atmosphere. At the far left end of the table sat Thranduil and the man stood as Bard entered the room.

“Oh, don’t worry about that.” Bard stuttered awkwardly. “Your wound still hasn’t healed, I’m sure." 

“No, it hasn’t.” Thranduil answered in his low voice. “Yet still I shall not allow myself to lose all of my manners. Please, take a seat.” The man told, gesturing to the chair across from him at the far right end of the table.

With only a moment’s hesitation Bard moved to sit, pulling the chair up under himself with a soft screech. 

The situation was awkward, to say the least. The silence that lingered was almost tangible, and finally Thranduil broke it with a rather direct “I didn’t think you’d show up.” 

“Neither did I, in all honesty.” Bard replied curtly. 

The bowman fidgeted involuntarily beneath the scrutiny of Thranduil’s gaze, though the look he was being sent was not a harsh one, but rather one that you may find on a wary child. The feeling of eyes on him made the bowman shiver. He was glad when the scarred man’s gaze was diverted as Bofur brought out two plates of steaming food that smelled absolutely divine.

Bard had never been one to pass up food, and even now the urge to eat as much as he could while it was available was too strong to resist. Too many years without had left its mark on the man. 

He dug in, and he got through his entire stack of green beans before he noticed something odd: Thranduil wasn’t eating. And not only was he not eating, he was sitting there across the table simply staring at Bard with that look that he could not read for the life of him. 

Bard thought that perhaps that was for the best.

It wasn’t until the brunet had gotten more than halfway through his meal that he finally heard the scrape of silverware on the polished wood of the table. By the time the bowman finished, his captor had only just begun. He wiped his face on his napkin and sipped slowly on his wine, wishing that he was anywhere but here.

It seemed to Bard that the blond’s only goal in this was to make him uncomfortable, though why he did not know. Perhaps as a bizarre form of entertainment; he knew firsthand how boring it was staying shut up in the palace all the time.

After what was most definitely the most awkward ten minutes of the bowman’s life, Thranduil finally finished, dabbing his scarred face with a napkin and clearing his throat commandingly, as was his way. Bard raised his eyebrows in expectation. He was almost glad that the man was about to talk, something he never thought he would be caught thinking. 

“Since you will be staying with us for quite a while,” Thranduil began, not making eye contact with the bowman, but rather staring at his own fidgeting fingers, “I thought that perhaps we could begin to get to know each other.” 

Bard almost snorted, but caught himself when he realized that Thranduil was, in fact, entirely serious.

“You’re not joking.” He stated aloud, and Thranduil drew in a deep breath.

“No, I am not.” He agreed, still not making eye contact, though at least now his face was tilted up. 

Any information he could garner from Thranduil would be useful in improving his escape plan, Bard knew. He wouldn’t be hurting anything (save maybe his sanity) by spending a bit more of the evening making horribly awkward small talk with his captor.

Convinced that it would only help, Bard took in a deep breath and nodded. “I agree. Oldest rule in the book: get to know your captor.” The man joked, though it did not appear that Thranduil realized that. _Right, then. No teasing._

Bard cleared his throat in an effort to dispel some of the awkwardness clinging to the walls of the room like pictures of those long dead family members you always hated that must be kept on display regardless. “So uh, did you have anything in mind?” Bard questioned. Thranduil appeared panicked for a fleeting second, but perhaps Bard was only imagining things.

“What about where you came from? What your life was like before coming here?” Thranduil questioned seemingly innocently. Bard truly did not think the man would be cruel in the matter of Bard’s past, especially when it was plain to tell that the blond’s own had not been ideal. Yet the sting in the bowman’s heart that accompanied the question was still there, and the wound had just been scratched whether Thranduil realized it or not. 

Bard wondered what they were doing now –  his kids. He could picture the three of them with pure wonder and innocence in their eyes as Bard would recite them stories from memory, for he could not read. They would each pick a part (Bard was usually the horrible dragon) and reenact it scene by scene, their shouts of glee drawing the neighbors to their front door to watch. 

The memory warmed Bard but also served to cut like a knife into his grieving heart. He grieved for the loss of his children and for the situation they were thrust into so early on in life. He grieved for the time he has lost with them and for the hardships he knew they must be facing. And he felt the anger of a father who was not doing all he could to return to them and protect them; anger at himself for not trying hard enough, for letting Thranduil control him.

Anger that his captor had to go and valiantly save his life and confuse him to no end.

The melting pot of emotions must have been evident on Bard’s face, for Thranduil sent him a curious look and asked “What troubles you? Did I say something wrong?” 

Bard shook his head and rubbed at his eyes to dispel the tension there behind them. “I miss my children. I worry about them.” He told curtly, wondering how Thranduil could possibly be so oblivious to his pain of losing them.

The brunet was met with silence, then an announcement from his captor: “There is a way you can see them.”

****

Thranduil had no idea what he was doing.

Actually, he knew exactly what he was doing, but had no idea why he was doing it. 

Perhaps it was the look of desperation that clouded Bard’s face, or maybe it was the odd flutter in his heart that Thranduil had not felt before. It was almost pleasant, certainly annoying, and only seemed to surface when he saw Bard or thought of Bard or anyone so much as mentioned Bard in passing.

He probably just needed to ask Óin for some type of medicine.

Whatever his reason, Thranduil was presently limping through the hallways of the palace with Bard in tow in an effort to… what, exactly? Console the man? Surely seeing his children would only make the bowman want to get to them even more than he already did, which Thranduil definitely couldn’t afford if he ever hoped to break the curse.

Still, it was too late now. 

Thranduil stopped before the looming doors of the west wing and turned to see a look of suspicion on Bard’s face. 

“I was wrong to forbid you from coming in here.” Thranduil told. “I apologize for my outburst last week.”

Bard’s eyebrows rose in suspicion before he spoke, saying “It was also wrong of me to come in even after you specifically told me not to. You do not need to show me anything in there if you do not feel it is right; I certainly don’t deserve to know about the things I saw.” 

While the bowman’s offer of a way out was tempting, Thranduil still felt like it was too late to turn around. He had already made up his mind and now there was no going back.

“I told you I would show you your children, and that’s what I’m going to do.” Thranduil said, as much for his own benefit as Bard’s. Then he pushed open the door and limped inside with Bard following hesitantly behind. 

The room smelled old and empty, and dust particles floated serenely among streaks of moonlight that filtered through the large windows. Many an hour had Thranduil spent alone in this room, wallowing in the hopelessness of it all. It was ironic to him, then, that he would bring the one hope for redemption they had here only to show him something that would merely stoke his desire to return home to his children as soon as possible.

Carefully Thranduil made his way through the room, weaving through various objects strewn about that he had decimated in more than one incident of an angry rage. He noticed out of the corner of his good eye Bard’s open staring at the rose that sat on the table at the other end of the room. The brunet appeared confused when Thranduil led him right past it and over to a mirror that hung on the wall adjacent to it.

Thranduil did not look into the mirror; it only served as a reminder of his hideousness both inside and out. Instead he gestured to the reflective glass, conscious of the blond tangles hanging over his dead eye to cover the scarring on at least a bit of his face. 

“Just think about them,” Thranduil instructed, “and the mirror will show them to you.”

Bard gave him a look that Thranduil was not entirely sure how to read before the bowman stood in front of the mirror, closed his eyes tight, and took a deep breath.

It took only moments for the mirror to shift and there, in three panels side by side, were three children. _Beautiful_ children, Thranduil thought. While the older girl – Sigrid – if he recalled correctly, and the boy looked to Thranduil nothing like their father, the youngest girl shared a striking resemblance with the bowman. He thought that Bard must have looked much the same when he was a young boy. 

Thranduil noticed that Bard’s eyes were still shut tight in concentration. With a slight movement of his hand, he brushed lightly against the man’s elbow, making him jump in surprise. It had the desired effect of making him open his eyes, though, and Thranduil thought he felt his heart skip a beat at the brightness that seemed to wash over the bowman instantaneously. 

“Oh, my darlings.” He heard him murmur under his breath. The brunet raised his hand and slowly reached out with deft fingers in an attempt to reach through the glass and touch his children. When all his hand met was cool glass, Thranduil saw his face fall and his entire demeanor dimmed ever so slightly. 

“Your children are beautiful.” Thranduil told honestly. He wasn’t sure what to say now that silence stretched awkwardly between them. Perhaps he shouldn’t have said anything.

Slowly Bard turned his head towards Thranduil, and the look on the man’s face shot a cold sting through his core. “Aye.” The bowman answered coldly. “I’m going to go shoot.”

And with that, Thranduil was left alone.

****

“You’ve got to be joking!” Tauriel laughed as Kíli recounted a tale from his childhood.

“I swear to you, it stung him and his nose swelled up and covered half his face!”

Their laughter was loud and their bodies were close and they were all alone in their secret room and before Tauriel knew it Kíli’s lips were on hers and they were both smiling into it and it was awkward but it was beautiful.

All too soon Kíli pulled away, staring up into her eyes, searching, though Tauriel did not know what for. “Was that too much?” He asked oh so innocently.

How he could ever think it was too much was beyond Tauriel. In answer she leaned back into his warmth and sealed their lips together once again, sighing into it a bit. 

When finally they separated, Kíli grinned. “I didn’t think you wanted that. At least, not with me.”

“I don’t think I even knew I wanted you like that until now…” Tauriel trailed, and it was true. Her feelings toward Kíli had always been a bit different than her feelings toward anyone else, but foolishly she hadn’t thought anything of it. “And what do you mean ‘at least not with me’?”

“I dunno,” Kíli shrugged, “I just see you with Legolas and you just always look so comfortable and happy around him… I guess I just thought you must be into him.”

“ _Legolas_?” Tauriel snorted. “ _Honestly_? I definitely love Legolas, but absolutely _not_ like I love you. Legolas is like… my annoying older brother.”

“That would make Thranduil your father, then.” Kíli smirked.

“Yeah…” Tauriel trailed. “How about Legs is my weird older cousin, then.”

“A little better, I suppose. I’m not sure I want to be with someone related to my captor, though, no matter how far removed.”

“Fine.” Tauriel replied in mock offense. “I guess you don’t want another kiss, then.”

With that she rose and made to leave their hidden room, leaving Kíli sitting with a half-frown, half-smile on the dusty ground. His shouts of protests brought a smile to her face, and Tauriel felt at peace for the first time in a while, like a piece of her had been out of place for years and one brush of her lips against Kíli’s was enough to put it right back where it belonged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I am so sorry that I am the slowest updater in the history of ever. It's just hard to write when I feel so insecure (⊙﹏⊙✿) But anywayyyy as always, thanks so much for reading! Comments make my life a little brighter ♥ (or you can hit me up on Tumbles at thorinbaqqins)
> 
> I hope you all have a fantastic day/night/whatever!


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